


smoke signals

by bbyfruit



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-09 00:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbyfruit/pseuds/bbyfruit
Summary: Isak falls hard for a boy in a bar, and it's just one night, but it might change his entire life.





	1. one.

**FRIDAY, AUGUST 19, 2016**

**20:15**

There’s a finite number of Instagram posts, and at this point in his summer, Isak is pretty fucking sure he’s seen literally every single one of them. He lays in bed with his phone on his chest and thinks that maybe he should get a job - for about half of a second. And then he snorts at the ridiculousness of that idea and flips over to Facebook. 

Four solid knocks on his door give him fair warning of who’s on the other side.

“What, Eskild?” Isak asks, letting the fond exasperation shine through in his voice.

“Can I come in?” Eskild says, as he cracks the door and pokes his head into Isak’s room, eyes lit up in a grin.

“Yeah,” Isak nods even though he rolls his eyes. He pushes himself up with elbows so he can look at Eskild, which proves to be completely unnecessary as Eskild flops onto his bed heavily, landing on his stomach with his hands tucked under his chin. Isak is unimpressed.

“Isak,” Eskild declares dramatically, “I’ve decided. You’re going out with me tonight.”

“What the fuck? No,” Isak says immediately. It’s - Christ, he thinks, Eskild  _ means  _ well, and that’s got to count for something. Isak accidentally came out to him earlier this summer, when he came back to the kollectiv crossfaded and bitter, thinking about Jonas’s tongue inside some random girl. Ever since that whole conversation, Eskild has been constantly trying to educate him on “gay culture.” Whatever the fuck that is.

Eskild widens his eyes at Isak’s response and pouts. “Please, Isak, please. Your last experience with a gay bar is not at all what it’s supposed to be like. I’m your guru! It’s my job to show you this stuff!”

“No.” His last interaction with the world of gay bars had started as a mistake and ended with vomit and tears and a vague face that he’d only ever seen in his Instagram messages, so  _ excuse _ him if he’s not too excited to repeat it.

“I’m not letting you rot in here until school starts,” Eskild says pointedly.

Isak stares back at him, narrowing his eyes. 

He’s not sure what does it. It might be the fact that this is the third time they’ve had this conversation, or the fact that he just discovered a potato chip under his pillow, or the fact that he’s tired and lonely and a seventeen year old boy, damn it, but he thinks that maybe going out with Eskild won’t be so bad. 

“Fine,” he says, ignoring the way his  _ guru’s  _ face lights up, “I’ll go.”

“Oh my God, yes,” Eskild cheers. He jumps up from the bed in delight and picks his way through piles of clothes to the door. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Okay, Eskild,” Isak says with another eye roll. He knows he’s being dramatic, but honestly, Eskild just encourages this kind of behavior from him. It’s like they feed off of one another. Linn fucking hates it.

Eskild pauses, one hand on the doorframe and the other on the doorknob. “Isak?” he asks, and waits for Isak to look up sullenly before he continues. “Put some actual pants on, yeah?”

“Fuck off!”

**FRIDAY, AUGUST 19, 2016**

**21:56**

Isak does put actual pants on - black skinny jeans, in fact, the ones that make Eskild raise his eyebrows and click his tongue against his teeth when he sees how they hang low on Isak’s hips. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. 

The two of them make their way to the tram. Eskild’s chattering away and throws himself into the seat sloppily, drawing attention from the other passengers, and Isak leans his shoulder into the pole and pretends like he doesn’t know the man beside him, and it’s not hard to believe because Eskild’s wearing eyeliner on his waterline and glitter on his cheekbones and Isak’s wearing a backwards snapback and Nikes.

They end up outside the bar where they first met, and Eskild gestures Isak to the doorway with a flourish.

“Fuck,” Isak complains, “I’m having war flashbacks. Vodka trauma.”

“It’s good for you,” Eskild encourages. “We’re creating a new memory to replace the old one. Or something.”

Eskild flirts with the bouncer to get them in, laying a hand on his bicep and tilting his head back to Isak, who watches the whole thing with his hands in his pockets. He’s not quite sure how it works. He’s not complaining though; the bouncer waves them in without a second glance Isak’s way.

Bass pounds deep into his bones. He blinks a few times to get used to the harsh transition from light to dark. The interior of the club is painfully similar to how he remembers it, all shiny surfaces and purple lighting, Eskild already making eyes at three different guys. 

“I’m gonna go grab a beer,” Isak says, giving Eskild an excuse to go grind on the already crowded dance floor.

“You gonna be okay?” Eskild asks, but only because he feels like he has to. His tongue flicks against his lips and Isak rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a fucking kid, Eskild. Go dance, yeah?”

Eskild shoots him a grateful grin and promptly vanishes.

Isak sighs. He’s regretting this whole thing, and he knows that he  _ just _ told Eskild that he wasn’t a kid but he feels like one here, out of his depth and alone, awkward in the way that he holds his arms at his sides. 

He finds his way to the bar and orders a beer, knocking it back with only a slight grimace at the taste, and wipes at the foam on his upper lip. He’s trapped in the sightline of some older guy. The man’s hair is receding and his eyes are beady and watery and Isak feels sick when the guy tips his glass towards Isak, winking. Isak breaks off eye contact and coughs. Fuck. He needs a breather. 

Weaving his way through the crowd, Isak shoulders open the door to the bathroom and runs cold water over his wrists and palms. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, and he lets the darkness take him deeper into himself, water dripping slowly down his cheekbones and the side of his nose, and it’s surprisingly nice with the running faucet sounding like white noise until he hears the door creak open.

Fuck, he hopes it’s not the guy from before. He sticks his hands back under the water and avoids looking at whoever’s standing at the doorway for far too long.

“It’s really bad for the environment to let water run for that long,” a voice says, and Isak’s head fucking  _ shoots _ up, because is it possible to want to have sex with someone’s voice? And yeah, wow, okay, more than just his voice, because the guy staring at him bemusedly is so fucking hot that Isak’s at a loss for words.

The water keeps running.

“You gonna get that?” the boy asks with a quirk of his eyebrows. Isak turns the water off. His brain isn’t working, blank and heavy and useless. It’s like his head is a fucking bowling ball and he stands silent with his eyes blinking wide. 

“Good choice,” he says, smirking, taking a step closer to Isak on unfathomably long legs. “Environmentally conscious. I like that.”

“Yeah,” Isak says, “I recycle too.” 

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ , why the  _ fuck  _ did his brain think that was a good thing to say, holy  _ shit _ , he thinks he’s dying right there, but then the boy cracks a genuine smile and laughs and Isak thinks he’s dying for a whole different reason.

“I’m Even,” the boy says. “And you are?”

“Isak,” he says, in complete wonderment. He didn’t even drink that much but he feels like he’s buzzed, can’t take his eyes off Even’s face, water dripping from his hands onto the floor, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all, because Even’s suddenly really fucking close to him. Like, close enough he can smell his cologne and his eyes are half closed because he’s watching Even’s lips as they part around his name - 

“Isak,” Even repeats. A lazy grin traces its way across his features. “Wanna dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Sick High School Musical reference. If you’re not keen on dancing, though, let’s go outside,” he says, and spins on his heel, leaving Isak to stare at the back of his white t-shirt for a beat before he follows him, quickening his pace to catch up.

Even reaches back as they get to the floor and grabs Isak’s still slightly damp hand to guide him through the crowd. Isak thinks his brain short circuits even more at the contact, because all the nerves in his body seem to be centered in his fingers, suddenly, and  _ fuck  _ his deprived gay ass for making him combust from holding hands with a boy.

Neither of them let go of each other at first when they finally make it outside. It’s suddenly a lot more real here, under the streetlights and stars, cars passing them with gentle comets of headlights. Even smiles down at him. He releases Isak’s hand slowly, fingers trailing, and turns to bend down and unlock a bike. Isak clenches his fist, still in shock, and what he thought was the thudding of the beat in the club has turned out to just be his own heart in his ears.

“Sit behind me?” Even asks, softly, and, out here, it’s the first time Isak sees him as something other than a smooth-talking fucker with blue eyes and a headband pushing back his hair. He seems almost vulnerable.

Isak swings his leg over the back of the bike. 

“Grab on,” Even says, and Isak barely hesitates before he presses his palms into the top of Even’s hips and lets his fingers dig into Even’s waist. He thinks he feels Even shudder with his touch, but he can’t really tell, because suddenly Even is pedaling and the wind is whipping through his hair and he’s smiling, so natural he doesn’t even realize it’s happening at first. 

So, alright, Isak believes in science, but fuck if this isn’t the most magical experience of his life.

Even lets the bike drop in front of a house and grabs Isak’s hands again, pulling him close enough that Isak can almost imagine that he can feel Even’s eyelashes flutter against his temple.

“Are you drunk right now?” Even murmurs.

“Not really,” Isak says, because it’s easier than saying  _ I only had one beer but I think that every time you look at me I get tipsy _ . “Why?”

He can feel Even’s breath on his skin when he answers. “Because I really want to kiss you and I think you want to kiss me, but I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

“Oh,” Isak exhales back.

And then he turns his head and presses his lips to Even’s.

Yeah, he’s kissed before, way too many girls and one boy, but  _ this _ is the kiss that matters. This is the kiss that makes him realize what everyone’s been talking about. This is the kiss that makes him open up to let Even’s tongue brush against his own, make a noise deep in his chest and trace the hem of Even’s shirt, let Even guide him into his house and his hallway and his room and his bed. 

This is the kiss that starts it all. It’s one kiss that turns into hundreds, on his lips and cheek, on his stomach, across his entire body as his back arches and he  _ wants _ , Jesus fuck, he wants in a way he’s never let himself feel before.

He thinks he loses his fucking mind when Even whispers “ _ Isak _ ” into the hollow of his collarbone.

**SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2016**

**03:03**

When Isak wakes up, or, more accurately, returns to consciousness, it’s dark and dense around him. He fumbles around and grabs his phone out of habit, squinting at the time - three in the morning. 

He recognizes that it’s not his phone when he sees the texts suspended on the lockscreen.

**Sonja** _(23:57)_ Even please answer

Just let me know you’re okay

_ (00:32)  _ I’m trying to trust you but this is hard

_ (01:16)  _ Text me when you get this. I’ll love you through whatever.

By the light of the clock on Even’s bedside table, he can see a framed picture of Even with his arm around some girl, and it’s the same arm that’s currently slung across his bare hip, and his mind is currently pulling a thousand warning alarms.  _ You fucked up! Girlfriend! Get out of there! Girlfriend! He’s still so fucking hot! Girlfriend! _

He just - Christ, he just fucked some guy he met in a club and he wasn’t even drunk and he woke up with darkness in his eyes and a body pressed against his own and a girl in a frame looking down upon him, and it’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

Isak slides out from Even’s arm carefully. He shuffles his feet around until he finds his pants, those damn skinny jeans, and digs around in his pockets for -  _ yes _ . His phone. He’s overcome with relief for a few blissful seconds, but the screen stays black and his heart drops into his gut because it’s dead. Of course. This is what he gets for sleeping with some girl’s boyfriend. He stands still and tries to organize everything in his head.

  1. He’s naked in the bedroom of some guy whose last name he doesn’t even know. 
  2. The guy has a girlfriend. 
  3. His phone is dead. 
  4. He doesn’t know where the fuck he is. 



Okay. Okay, he can figure this out. He throws on the pants and his shirt. There’s only one phone number he knows by heart other than his own, so he grabs Even’s phone and dials from the emergency call screen, slipping out of the bedroom and praying to a God he doesn’t believe in that his best friend answers a call from an unknown number at three in the morning.

“What the fuck,” Jonas says on the other end. Isak almost cries in relief.

“Jonas?”

“Isak? What the fuck? Do you know what time it is? What number is this?”

“Yeah,” Isak says desperately, dodging the questions, “Jonas, listen, I need your help. I’m - fuck, I don’t know where I am and my phone’s dead and I need you to tell me what to do. Please.” His voice cracks at the end. He’s made it this far, but Jonas is always the one to pull him out of the shit he gets himself into, and he’s in some  _ deep _ shit right now.

Jonas shuffles around and Isak can imagine him trying to untangle himself from his duvet, half asleep as he says, “Shit, yeah, okay. Are you, like, at a house?”

“Yeah, I went home with, uh, someone,” Isak says. He hopes he can just skip over the whole  _ oh, I’m gay _ part.

“Can you see a street sign or something?”

Isak exhales, because that’s a good fucking idea, and he peers out the window at the end of the hallway - he can see something with words under the light outside of someone’s front door, and he rambles off the street name to Jonas.

“Okay,” Jonas says, calm and in control, “I just looked it up on Google Maps and I can be there in like fifteen minutes, so just stay there and I’ll come get you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Isak says again. His heart is settling down into something that resembles a normal rhythm.

“I’m gonna hang up now,” Jonas warns him, “but I’ll see you soon.”

The dial tone sounds in his ears but Isak thinks he’s never been more grateful in his life. He slips back into Even’s room and gazes down at the boy on the bed, sprawled out, all gangly limbs and deep breathing, and he sets the phone down as gently as he can before making his way out to the front door to wait on the porch.

It’s dark as hell outside, streetlights offering up little patches of visible sidewalk. Isak stares across the street for a long time. He counts the cracks tracing along the sidewalk that he can see and calms his breathing, slow, slow, in perfect time with the one light that flickers dimly. Warm air traces across his skin. 

He almost runs to Jonas when he sees him walking around the corner. Jonas is looking at him all concerned, eyes scanning over him, and he asks, “Are you okay?” lowly.

“I’m good, just fucking freaked,” Isak says, nodding at Jonas to reassure him. “Let’s just, yeah, let’s just get out of here.”

“Isak?” a hoarse voice calls, and Isak freezes. Fuck. How did he think this would be easy? When has  _ anything _ ever been easy for him? 

He turns around slowly and Even’s standing in the doorway, lit by the glow of the light behind him, pushing back his hair, and fucking Christ, he looks downright sinful, like nothing but sex, disheveled and wearing only - shit, only  _ Isak’s  _ boxers, which clearly show the hickeys on his chest and there’s no way that Jonas doesn’t know exactly what’s going on.

Isak coughs. “I’ll, um, see you later,” he says, his whole body flushing red and he walks fast in the direction Jonas came from. He’s decidedly not looking back at Even’s house.

Jonas walks beside him in silence for a few minutes. “You ready to explain who that was?” he asks finally.

“Just some guy I met,” Isak says, looking directly forward. Jonas can put together the pieces himself and he’s really not prepared for this conversation on top of everything else that’s just happened tonight. Or last night. Or this morning. Or whatever the fuck it is.

“Okay,” Jonas says calmly. He’s not pushing, and Isak’s heart clenches, because what the hell did he do to deserve his best friend? 

They keep walking, guided by the highlighted path on Jonas’s phone.

“Good looking guy, though,” Jonas offers.

Isak sputters out a laugh of surprise and stops in his tracks, turning to look at Jonas. “What?”

Knocking their shoulders together, Jonas just smiles at him. And, okay, it’s okay, because he just accidentally came out and his best friend is still beside him, still smiling, still comfortable enough to be close to him and brush their arms together and maybe it really will be okay. There’s a weight off of Isak’s chest that he didn’t know was there in the first place. 

It feels like his ribcage is free to expand, which makes it easier to shimmy through Jonas’s open bedroom window when they get to his house. Isak falls into bed easily, in his clothes with a snapback smushed against the mattress, because Jonas always sleeps on the right and Isak always sleeps on the left and that hasn’t changed in the eleven years they’ve been best friends. 

**SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2016**

**10:47**

It’s light when Isak wakes up. Actually, light isn’t the right word - it’s downright  _ blinding _ , and he blinks. Jonas is still passed out next to him. The night comes rushing back in full, vivid color, and Isak thinks dully that this is the most embarrassed he’s ever been in his seventeen years on this earth. 

He plugs his phone into the wall and goes to the bathroom while he waits for it to turn back on. Looking in the mirror, Isak stands still and asks for death. Just, like, a meteor that comes down and smashes only into the bathroom, leaving Jonas and his family unharmed, Isak vaporized into a fine dust where the line of mouth-shaped bruises from his jawline to under his collar is not visible. 

No meteor comes. He walks back to Jonas’s room and picks up his phone as it turns on. 

**Eskild** _ (00:13)  _ Isssssssssssssy where are u!!!!

_ (01:47)  _ Im going home

Are u coming? 

_ (02:03)  _ Have funn baby gay!

Christ, he does not want to deal with this, like, ever. But Jonas is awake and leveling Isak with his gaze. It’s the kind of look he always has when Isak is hiding some shit, whether it be with school or his mom or whatever, and Isak runs a hand over his hair.

“Hey,” Jonas says cautiously.

Isak nods back at him.

“You hanging out here today?” Jonas asks. 

“Nah, I’m, uh,” Isak coughs, and it’d be so easy to just sit here with Jonas and play video games and ignore that last night ever happened, but he’s sure Eskild has a hundred questions and he should get it over with as soon as possible. “I’m gonna head back to the kollectiv.”

“Okay,” Jonas says with his head still pressed into the pillow and his eyes squinting up at Isak. “Text me though, yeah?”

Isak throws his hand over his brow in a salute and walks backwards out of the room. He makes his way home on the tram. 

Unlocking the door without making noise is a challenge, but he thinks he manages it, pressing his weight slowly against the door knob and sliding against the wall to take of his shoes and let out a breath of relief that Eskild’s probably hungover and still sleeping it off.

“So,” Eskild says, and Isak starts at the sight of him, in a silk robe holding a glass of water with one hand at this temple and his eyebrow raised. Shit. Isak relaxed too soon.

“Hey,” Isak says as casually as possible. “Coffee in the kitchen?”

He tries to walk past Eskild into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact like the fucking master of coming back home after a one night stand, but Eskild grabs his arm and he freezes. 

“Isak,” Eskild says, smiling slow and dramatic, “hi. Isak.”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that?” Isak asks. He runs his palm over the marks on his neck (yikes) and avoids eye contact. 

Eskild tilts his head to the side. “I think you know why.”

There’s a couple of options in this situation and Isak sorts through them all as fast as possible. He can lie and say he was at Jonas’s all night, which obviously isn’t true, but denial is a way of life for him. He can sit down with Eskild and have an honest heart to heart, and there’s no  _ way _ that’s happening. That leaves the third and most appealing option - continuing to play dumb.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isak says. He shrugs to make it more believable.

“You’re so full of shit,” Eskild hisses at him as he lets Isak pass to get to the kitchen, except Eskild’s feet still thud behind him as he walks.

He can feel Eskild’s presence hovering around him, staring at his neck and his ears as they slowly blush red, heat rising under Eskild’s burning gaze. “Don’t follow me around, Jesus Christ!” Isak spins and motions like he’s about to push his roommate.

Eskild clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Touchy! I just need to live vicariously through you.” He pouts and looks into Isak’s eyes. “Please.”

And it’s in that moment that it finally hits Isak that Eskild is not going to get off his motherfucking back about this, so he gives up, rolls his eyes and stuffs his mouth full of words that fall out fast -

“I hooked up with a guy and went home with him but then I woke up in the middle of the night and found out that he has a girlfriend so Jonas came to get me and found out that I like guys and yeah,” he says without taking a breath.

Eskild blinks.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “that’s a lot.”

Turning back around, Isak pours himself a cup of coffee, raising his eyebrows even though Eskild can’t see it. “Yeah.” He takes a sip.

“Was the sex good, though?” Eskild asks, and Isak almost dies from choking on his coffee.

“I’m not fucking answering that!” 

“Fine,” Eskild says, “but let me know if you want to talk. Like, are you okay? Emotionally, I mean.”

That’s a tough question, so Isak sighs, looking at his hands wrapped around the coffee mug, and he answers slowly. “Uh. Yeah, I guess. Jonas just kind of went with it. Didn’t ask any questions or anything.”

Isak would never admit it, like, ever, but one of his favorite things about Eskild is that he knows when to push and when to sit back and let Isak have space, which is what he does right now, nodding gently and stepping away from him. Isak takes a few more sips of coffee. He lets his eyes flutter shut as he feels the caffeine trace through his veins. Which, admittedly, might be all in his head, but he decides to pretend like it’s not.

Eskild leaves back into his room but keeps his door open, an unspoken invitation in case Isak wants it. He doesn’t, but it’s kind of nice to have it there just in case.

The alert on his phone makes him freeze for a second - he hasn’t heard from his mom in a while, and now would be like, the absolute  _ worst  _ time for her to text, so it makes logical sense that it’s her.

**Jonas:** _ (11:12)  _ Hey you left your snapback here

Actually never mind this is mine? Wtf

He lets out a breath because it’s  _ Jonas _ , casual and just checking in, and he’s wildly grateful.

**Isak:** _ (11:13)  _ Hahaha sorry

**Jonas:** _ (11:13)  _ Party at Eva’s tonight?

We can meet at Mahdi’s at 18

**Isak:** _ (11:14)  _ Chill

**SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2016**

**18:50**

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way that’s sanitary,” Mahdi says, looking at Magnus like he’s just said the worst thing possible. Isak tuned Magnus out a good thirty minutes ago. 

“It’s not,” Jonas confirms. 

Isak takes a deep sip of the beer that Mahdi had pressed into his hands the moment they walked in and stays out of the conversation as Magnus sputters, trying to convince everyone that whatever obscure sex act he did was, in his words, “completely sanitary, you fuckers!”

“We’re going though, yeah?” Jonas says eventually, and oh God, please, yes, Isak thinks, because he is so fucking tired of these conversations.

So they fan out in the streets with Isak and Jonas in the middle, Mahdi on the right and Magnus on the left. Eva’s house isn’t far, but they’re a little messy and tipsy, shoulders bumping and eyes rolling, so it takes them a bit too long to get there. 

Mahdi’s roasting Magnus on a street corner when Jonas hangs back next to Isak. Isak knows what’s coming. 

“Hey,” Jonas says with his tongue slightly parting the corner of his mouth, and Isak nods back at him. “You okay?”

He shoots Jonas a smile. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m okay.” 

Jonas looks at him like he knows he’s not, but doesn’t say anything more, just stands beside him a way that’s silent and steady and secure. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” Magnus shouts at them, Eva’s house just a few doors down and unmistakable in the music and voices flooding from the open door. 

Eva’s somehow everywhere at once, and she flings her arms around Isak and Jonas the instant that they walk in. She hangs heavy with her mouth open in laughter. Isak looks over at Jonas like  _ what can you do?  _ because she’s already drunk and warm. He pries her off of the two of them and passes her onto Vilde, who catches her and lets her run her hands through her blonde hair, and the whole group moves deeper into the house. 

They make the rounds at the party, nodding to the people they barely know before the whole group of boys end up in their usual place - the bathtub. Isak kind of hates parties. He likes pregames well enough, likes smoking his friends, likes cracking jokes and just relaxing, which he can’t do when there’s so many people around that he can’t breathe. Jonas and Mahdi get it. Magnus doesn’t.

Magnus nags the whole time about how they could be out there hooking up with girls. Isak, with his heart in his throat and smoke in his lungs, pretends not to notice how Jonas keeps steering the conversation away from girls. 

He pretends not to notice, but that doesn’t mean he’s not grateful. 

**SUNDAY, AUGUST 21, 2016**

**01:29**

The door to Linn’s room is shut when he gets back, and Eskild is gone, leaving nothing but the faint smell of lavender in the hallway and some dried pasta in the sink.

Isak closes the door of his bedroom and leans against it. He sighs, picturing himself melting back into the wood, letting the muscles in his shoulders relax as he closes his eyes.

It’s a little weird to go to bed, to lay on his side and think,  _ twenty-four hours ago I was in Even’s bed _ , but he ignores that too, his mind already occupied with enough shit to make thinking about boys a bad choice.

Even worms his way into Isak’s thoughts anyways. It’s not his fault, he rationalizes, because the first guy he had sex with just happens to be the first guy he’s felt something for since - well, since Jonas, but that’s irrelevant. And it’s not his fault that Even’s fucking hot as hell and knew exactly how to make him feel like a thousand birds were taking flight in his body, giving him bruises on his neck while simultaneously holding him so gently that he was able to sleep more soundly than he has in months.

Fuck. 

He grabs his phone and it’s not that he’s  _ trying _ to find Even, but just that he’s typing Even’s name into a ton of different search bars, and if the right account happens to come up, then, well, he won’t complain.

After he’s hit Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, and is about to Google Even, he throws his phone on the bed beside him with a groan. He can’t think like this. He can’t let his fucking abandonment issues fuck this up or whatever. It was a one night stand and that’s it. He’ll never see Even again, so he tucks it away deep in between his ribcage and his heart, a surreal Friday night that will hopefully get him through all the shitty Fridays in the foreseeable future. 

**SUNDAY, AUGUST 21, 2016**

**10:01**

Isak wakes up hungover. It’s not too bad, and nothing new, but it’s not exactly how he wants to spend the last day before school starts back up. He hauls himself up and trudges to the bathroom, drinking straight from the faucet with his eyes still falling shut against the bright light and white walls.

He dives back into his bed when he gets back into his room, shoulder first, rolling back and grabbing his phone as he does so. There’s only one text waiting for him and wow, okay, fuck.

**Mamma:** _ (05:16)  _ Answer me when I call to you, my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; have mercy on me and hear my prayer. How long will you people turn my glory into shame? How long will you love delusions and seek false gods? Know that the LORD has set apart his faithful servant for himself; the LORD hears when I call to him. Tremble and do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent!!!!!!

Most of the time this shit doesn’t get to him. Most times he brushes it off, deletes the messages, moves the fuck on, but sometimes it hits him. Hard. This is one of those times. 

He can almost hear the words echoing around him, bringing him back to when he was small enough to sit enraptured by the stories preached at him from the pulpit, full of power and clear, ringing voices. Because Isak, for most of his life, really, truly, honestly, believed in God. Desperately believed, clinging onto the faith until he couldn’t do it anymore. It’s hard for him to tell when it changed. It might have been when his grandmother died, or when his mom pulled the curtains off the walls in a frenzy, or the first time his dad left. 

Despite everything, he’s never quite grown past the religion he was raised with, so when things are already kind of shitty, it doesn’t take much to bring him back.

When things are already kind of shitty.  _ Give me relief from my distress. _

When he’s spent the previous night making crude jokes about women and pretending like he was into the girls just outside the bathroom door.  _ How long will you love delusions? _

When he’s woken up from a heavy dream with a boy’s voice filtering through, calling him beautiful and breathing curses into his ear.  _ Tremble and do not sin. _

_ Do not sin. _

Yeah, sometimes it’s a hell of a lot harder to ignore those texts.

**SUNDAY, AUGUST 21, 2016**

**19:48**

“Do you want me to pack you lunch for school tomorrow?” Eskild croons, teasing Isak.

Isak doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone. “No, Eskild.”

Linn’s laying next to Eskild on the other couch, her head pressed up against his knee where he’s sitting cross-legged, the light of the TV making her face look even paler. Isak’s still kind of scared of her. He never sees her, really, just senses some other  _ presence _ in the apartment, but Eskild declared tonight to be family movie night and so she emerged from her room dragging a duvet and plopped down without a word.

“I hated high school,” she says tonelessly, and Eskild runs his fingers through her hair.

“Yes, Linn, we know,” he says, rolling his eyes in Isak’s direction. “She’s bitter.”

Isak’s kind of puzzled by their dynamic, but whatever. “I like the school part,” he says, “but not, like, the people part.”

“Yeah,” Linn sighs. 

There’s silence for a second, broken only the shouting from whatever shitty action movie they’re watching, and then Eskild groans loudly.

“God,” he complains, “you guys are fucking depressing.”

“Go call Noora, then,” Linn says. Isak narrows his eyes - with the way she delivers it, he’s not sure if it’s an insult or a legitimate suggestion.

Whatever it is, it shuts Eskild up for a few blissful moments. Isak counts eight explosions in twenty-six seconds. 

“Can you sit up so I can braid your hair?” Eskild asks Linn quietly. She shuffles up on the couch without a word, leaning back against Eskild’s chest as he begins to work deftly to pull her hair back into two braids.

Isak lets his phone land on his chest, a familiar weight, and tugs his hood up to cover his ears. It’s just so nice to live somewhere where the walls keep him safe instead of keep him contained, somewhere where raised voices mean singing Disney soundtracks instead of fighting, somewhere where there’s love and happiness and bickering and a  _ home _ , above anything else. Yeah, he thinks, sappy and a little tired, it feels like home.

**MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 2016**

**08:47**

Mahdi falls into step on Isak’s left. He nods at Isak and Jonas, the three of them walking grimly, like they’re on en route to a fucking funeral. Honestly, they kind of are. 

“Hey,” Magnus says, running up to them and nearly careening into Jonas. “Are you guys as pumped as I am for second year?”

“Literally no,” Isak says. He’s not even trying. It’s too damn early and he slept on his neck weird so it hurts and he’s not looking forward to this at all.

“Huh? We can hook up with all the first year girls, though,” Magnus says. Isak shoots him a glare that’s decidedly unamused. “Come  _ on _ ,” he complains, “there’s bound to be some hot ones.”

“Isak’s too worried about getting a six in biology to be bothered with girls,” Jonas quips, causing Mahdi and Magnus to laugh and Isak to elbow him in the ribs, ducking his head to disguise the smile he can’t hold back.

That’s how they arrive at school on that first day: Magnus laughing with his arm around Mahdi’s neck, Mahdi pushing him off dramatically, Jonas socking Isak in the shoulder and all of them laughing like the troublesome teenage boys that they are.

Isak stops dead in his tracks. Laughter dies on his lips and he can feel the smile slide off his face, shock taking its place, his hand tightening on Jonas’s forearm.

“Fuck, Is, you’re gonna give me bruises -” Jonas breaks off when he sees Isak’s face. “Isak?” he asks, low and fast, “What’s wrong?”

He can’t move, can’t think, because  _ fuck _ , he’s a planner and he did not plan for this, this was not supposed to happen, this is not good not good not good.

Jonas follows his line of sight and mumbles, “Oh, shit,” when he sees what Isak’s looking at.

And then Even lifts his head. 

He’s sitting on the steps, hands wrapped around a sketchbook, and Isak desperately tries not to think about all the places on his body that those same hands have touched. Even looks so fucking  _ good _ with his hair styled up and his eyes harsh blue over a black t-shirt and shit, fuck, goddamn it, this was supposed to be a one time thing and now he’s here.

“Huh?” Magnus squeaks, looking rapidly between Isak and Jonas, and they’re walking, still walking, but Isak’s eyes haven’t left Even’s and Even’s haven’t left his and - 

“Nothing,” Isak says, snapping himself out of it. “I was just about to say that I should have grabbed Magnus because he’s the one into bruises.”

Mahdi crows at that, and they all start laughing again. Isak can feel Even’s eyes on him. 

What the fuck is he doing here?

Like honestly, not even a cute  _ what the fuck _ , but a real shaken-to-the-core, world-feels-different kind of  _ what the fuck _ .

Jonas is shooting him looks and chewing nervously at his lips, and Isak wants to tell him that he’s fine but he thinks if he tries to speak, it’ll just come out as one long scream. 

He focuses straight ahead. Or, well, fuck, actually, not straight, because his mind has an unfortunate habit of reminding him of exactly how Even’s mouth felt on his body at the most inopportune times. And then there’s blood rising to his cheeks and he’s walking faster and hurtling himself into his Norwegian class. 

Fuck. What the hell is he going to do if this is how it is every single  _ fucking _ day? If it’s every day, with Even’s eyes burning holes in his t-shirt and Jonas all nervous, hovering by his elbow, and  _ fuck _ , he’s probably going to die.

Yeah. He’s going to die.

**THURSDAY, AUGUST 25, 2016**

**15:27**

Okay. Okay, so it’s been a few days and he’s still breathing. Almost a week since he’s slept with Even and he’s still alive. 

Isak’s walking with his backpack slung over one shoulder, scrolling through his phone in order to avoid having to make eye contact with Even when he’s on his way out of school. It’s the first time he’s leaving school without the boys around him. He’s been staring with his brows knit at the same Instagram post for the entire walk across the courtyard, and he’s trying very fucking hard to act like he doesn’t know where Even usually sits. 

It’s only from the corner of his vision that he sees someone approaching him from the side. 

Fuck, he thinks dully, because it’s someone tall with blonde hair and sunglasses and a shirt that’s just slipping slightly to the side to reveal his collar bone and - 

“Isak,” a voice says.

Isak jerks a bit, pulling his head up from his phone to see… Sana Bakkoush? He’s confused on so many levels right now. Some sense lets him know that Even’s backed off and is sitting down in his normal spot.

“Hi?” he says, and he knows he’s giving Sana a weird look but first of all, he’s still on edge from Even, and second of all, he doesn’t know why she’s talking to him. They only know each other by association, through Eva, but even that’s a loose connection, because Isak’s friendship with Eva ended right around the same time that Sana’s began.

“Isak, yeah?” she asks, staring at him with dark lips slightly parted, like he’s the stupidest thing she’s ever seen.

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

“Did you understand what we went over in class?” Sana seems almost businesslike in how she speaks to him, and it’s disorienting after he’s spent the last few days floating in a cloud.

“Class…” he says slowly as he squints his eyes at her. 

“Class,” she confirms. “We have biology together.”

“Oh! Yeah, it was the stuff about cell mutations and genetic shit, right?” They’ve ended up standing by the fence that surrounds the school, Isak halfway out on the sidewalk, Sana peering up at him skeptically from underneath a black hijab and black eyeshadow.

“Genetic shit,” Sana repeats. It sounds bitter on her tongue.

Isak nods once and shoots her a smile that hopefully doesn’t look as confused as he feels.

Sana quirks her head to the side and begins to ask another question, making it part of the way through before she’s accosted by blonde hair and bubblegum pink clothes.

“Chris found a place for tomorrow,” Vilde says breathlessly. Isak rolls his eyes, an involuntary response to being this close to Vilde, and he thinks Sana sees him, because she grins a little.

“Bye, Isak,” she says as Vilde pulls her away without a second glance in Isak’s direction.

“See you.” He stands there for a second, tree branches rustling above his head and casting patterns in shadows at his feet, before he shakes his head and begins his walk to the tram.

It’s a surprisingly calming ride home, NWA in his ears. The beats are only broken by incoming texts from the group message with the boys.

**Jonas:** _ (15:49)  _ What are we doing tomorrow night?

**Magnus:** _ (15:49)  _ Brooooos

Any parties?

**Mahdi:** _ (15:50)  _ There’s a Bakka party I think

**Magnus:** _ (15:50)  _ I’m not partying with hipsters

**Mahdi:** _ (15:50)  _ Hey you asked

**Jonas:** _ (15:52)  _ Eva just texted she knows a place

**Mahdi:** _ (15:53)  _ Chill

**Magnus:** _ (15:53)  _ Chill

Can we pregame at Isak’s?

No parents ftw

**Isak:** _ (15:54)  _ I’ll ask

**Mahdi:** _ (15:55)  _ Thanks man

**Magnus:** _ (15:55)  _ Yessss

_ (15:57)  _ Listen up boys

We’re all getting girls tomorrow night

**Mahdi:** _ (15:58)  _ That’s not even a question for anyone but you

It’s a few moments later that Isak gets a text from Jonas outside of the group, which would be totally normal, except for what the message says.

**Jonas:** _ (16:03)  _ Hey, I know you didn’t really get to tell me on your own terms or whatever but just let me know if you don’t want to hook up with a girl tmrw and I can cover for with the boys if you don’t want to tell them

Or whatever you want

Just wanted to let you know that I’m here

Okay, fuck. His mouth is dry and he walks off the tram in a daze, staring down at the message on his phone. He lowkey thought this was dealt with, that they’d just go back to how it was, that Isak would get drunk and tangle his hands in some girl’s hair and force himself to move his lips around hers. It’s not going to be, like, a  _ thing _ , is it?

Except maybe it is. With Even in the courtyard and the hallways, he can’t really move past it. And it - fuck, there’s a total of three people that know he likes boys, and that’s three too many because he doesn’t even really know what he  _ is _ yet, and he’s standing dully in the hallway with his phone still open in his hands. 

Linn’s door is shut and she might be there and she might not. Isak’s never really sure. He makes himself a snack in the kitchen, throwing slices of cheese on some bread, and carries the plate back to his room. 

Isak’s bed is possibly his favorite thing on earth. He spends the next few hours there, stretched out on his stomach, flipping back and forth through his textbook and ignoring the messages from Jonas on his phone. 

When he does finally reply, it’s short and he closes his eyes when he hits send. 

**Isak:** _ (18:37)  _ Thanks

**FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 2016**

**21:32**

“Can’t we just stay in?” Isak says petulantly, frowning into his beer can.

They’re hanging out in the kitchen, the four of them slung haphazardly in the chair around the table, phones and drinks scattered in front of them. 

“Just because one party got busted doesn’t mean that we can’t go to another one,” Mahdi points out.

Isak’s acting pissy as hell and he knows it but honestly, he doesn’t really give a fuck right now. “I went out twice last weekend and I’m fucking tired!” he argues. 

“You went out without us?” Mahdi asks. He leans forward to grab another beer.

“Yeah, with Eskild,” Isak says without thinking.

“Fuck, like, to a gay bar or something?” Magnus laughs. Isak’s heart just about drops to the bottom of his toes. He forgets sometimes that the boys only know Eskild as Isak’s Gay Roommate and nothing beyond that, forgets that therefore everything associated with Eskild is gay.

“Something like that,” he says as casually as he can while his body is breaking out in cold sweats and his hands don’t feel like his own.

“Mahdi,” Magnus says, already moving onto more interesting topics, “what about that Bakka party?”

“I thought you didn’t want to party with hipsters,” Mahdi points out.

Jonas leans forward with his eyes still resting gently on Isak. “A party’s a party, though,” he says, and Mahdi and Magnus both raise their voices in a chorus of agreement.

Mahdi snatches his phone from the table to look up the address, asking, “So, Bakka party it is, then?”

Waiting for Isak to answer first, Jonas rests his elbows on the table and begins to bend back the tab on the top of the beer can.

“Yeah,” Isak says, taking a deep swing of the last few sips, “that’s fine.”

Magnus whoops and begins to bang his fists rhythmically on the table, chanting, “Hipster weed! Hipster weed! Hipster weed!”

**FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 2016**

**22:19**

It’s hard to sulk in the bathroom if you don’t know the host. 

It’s even harder, Isak realizes, to sulk when you don’t know anyone and your only three friends in the world are currently either hooking up with girls (Mahdi and Jonas) or desperately  _ trying _ to hook up with a girl (Magnus). And so Isak finds himself in the kitchen of some random person’s house. He presses himself into a corner in order to avoid the bodies that move through the room, still holding one of the beer cans that he brought from the pregame, moody and half-drunk and wishing he had stayed home.

“Hey, you’re Isak, right?” asks a voice at his elbow. The girl is pretty, short hair and big eyes and lips pursed in a way that’s supposed to make him want to kiss them. He feels sick.

“Yeah.” She’s in his space, which, admittedly, is just the countertop and floor in this guy’s house, but he’s claimed it, so she needs to back the fuck up and stop brushing her knuckles against his side.

He shifts away from her uncomfortably. She gets the message, he thinks, her eyes flashing, but she probably thinks he’s playing hard to get or some shit, because she moves in closer beside him and smiles. Fine. He’s not fucking hard to get. He’s downright impossible. 

The girl is talking, her hair brushing against his shoulder, eyelashes fluttering gently. Isak is looking  _ anywhere _ but her. 

It’s when her cold fingers are tracing their way up his chest and his eyes are desperately looking for one of the boys to rescue him that he sees Even. Leaning back against the doorway. Head tilted back. Blue eyes burning and Isak can’t really look away, not even when the girl dives in with lips pressing too hard against his, because Even’s smirking at him from across the room. His breath is suspended in the air between him and this fucking girl who’s way too close. 

“Isak,” Even says conversationally, and how the  _ fuck _ did he get over here, next to Isak and he nods his head, grinning wide like he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing to Isak, “Emma.” 

Oh, shit. That’s her name. 

“Mind if I steal Isak away for a second?” Even grins at Emma, wide and bright, but his eyes are - well, fuck, Isak doesn’t want to say it, but he looks almost possessive. 

Emma looks between them suspiciously. “Yeah, sure,” she says slowly. “See you later.”

Isak’s only reaction is the one that comes up most around Even, his brain full of a resounding chorus of  _ what the actual literal fuck _ . As in, what the fuck is Even doing here? What the fuck does he think he’s doing right now? What the fuck does he want? And okay, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, because the words spill out of his mouth without his control.

“Even, what the fuck?”

Even raises one eyebrow. “It looked like you and that Emma were bonding a little too much.”

He smiles at Isak, feigning innocence, and Isak wants to tell him that it’s none of his fucking business. Like, he  _ wants  _ to say that, but he can’t ignore the fact that Even did lowkey save him from a hellish makeout session and he highkey looks really fucking good in that denim jacket. 

Isak catches himself literally licking his lips and wants to die. Girlfriend, he reminds himself. He can’t be involved with someone who obviously has a serious girlfriend. 

“She’s nice,” he says, shrugging. “You, uh, go to Nissen now?”

Even sips at his drink. “Yeah. Transferred from Bakka.”

“So that’s how you know… whoever’s house this is,” Isak says, gesturing loosely with his hand.

The smile that Even shoots back at him is completely unnecessary, lips just parting over his teeth, his eyes resting somewhere between soft and piercing, and Isak can’t handle it. 

“Old friend,” Even says. “What about you?” He bends to knock their shoulders together, and the jolt of contact almost kills Isak right there. He stumbles a bit.

“Uh, friend of Mahdi’s, or something,” Isak says blankly, and something in him is aware that Even has no fucking idea who Mahdi is, but he can’t really help it because his whole body is still shaking from the aftershocks of Even’s touch.

Even smiles. “You’re so fucking cute.”

God. Christ. Fuck. Isak’s standing dead still in his place because what the  _ hell  _ is Even doing?

“Shouldn’t you be telling that to your girlfriend?” Isak blurts out, and yeah, okay, it might come out a little more bitter than he intended. Even blinks a few times.

“Is that why you left? After?” he asks, seemingly shocked.

Isak shoots him a look, stitching his eyebrows together while widening his eyes. “Well, yeah. Like, that’s kind of a dick move, to fuck a stranger when you have a girl.” Shit. He should probably stop drinking now, if he’s just going to start accusing Even of things and talk about their one night stand at a crowded house party.

“You’re a mean drunk,” Even says. Isak can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but he opens his mouth to tell Even that he’s not fucking drunk, and Even continues, “and Sonja’s not my girlfriend.”

“Huh?”

“We broke up,” Even says simply as a way of explanation as Isak looks up at him. He’s desperately trying to rationalize the whole thing, the framed photo and the texts about love and the whole thing - 

“That’s why I was at that bar,” Even’s still saying, “because my friends were trying to cheer me up and shit.”

“Oh,” Isak says. He tries to swallow but his throat’s dry with all the assumptions he’s made, so he takes another sip of beer, draining the can entirely. Even raises an eyebrow at him. He’s about to ask something that he’ll regret, and he knows it, but his mouth is saying, “Do you want to -”

“Isak!” Magnus yells, stumbling into the kitchen. “Hipster weed in the bathroom! And I need you to help me find Jonas, you’ve always got like a fucking sixth sense about where he is.” He finally seems to notice Even when he pauses to grab another drink. “Oh. Hi.” Magnus looks between them expectantly and Isak has to breathe and remind himself that he and Even are standing far apart enough that Magnus wouldn’t be able to tell that they’d slept together even if he wasn’t drunk as hell. 

“Mags, this is, uh,” he says, blanking out. He’s not quite sure what to introduce Even as. Cool guy I met in a bar? Fellow student at Nissen? Guy who’s had my dick in his mouth? Just, like, a random stranger at this party?

“Even,” Even says, smiling and reaching his hand out. 

Magnus is a touchy drunk, and he grabs Even’s hand and pulls him into an obnoxious hug, clapping him on the back as Even laughs with delight. 

“Wanna join us for a smoke?” Magnus asks enthusiastically. 

Even raises an eyebrow back at him coolly. “Nah, I’m good. You boys have fun.”

“We always do,” Magnus choruses, dragging Isak away and alternating between chanting “Hipster weed!” and “Jonas!”

Magnus is too warm, slinging his arm around Isak’s shoulder, and Isak looks back to shoot Even an apologetic glance. Even tips his head back and winks - or, well, he tries to wink, which shouldn’t be as fucking hot as it is because it looks like he’s just closing his eyes and one’s twitching, but Isak almost falls the fuck down. He probably would have crashed into the wall if Magnus hadn’t been holding him up. Even smirks and Isak’s pretty sure that he also chokes down a laugh. 

“You good, bro?” Magnus says when he sees Isak’s blushing face. 

He coughs, and then says, “Uh. Yeah. Jonas is probably hooking up somewhere.”

“Okay, yeah,” Magnus says, “but, like, where?”

Isak takes a second to pause, to put Even out of his mind and just breathe, to think about where Jonas would be. Okay. They’ve been there long enough for him to find a girl, but not long enough for him to get her to a bedroom, so that means -

“The stairs,” Isak says definitively.

“The stairs?”

“Yeah, the stairs. Trust me.” Magnus looks at him skeptically but shrugs one shoulder and moves deeper into the party, heading towards the stairs off of the living room.

Magnus stops in his tracks when he sees Jonas on the stairs, leaning back against the wall with his hands on the hips of the girl in front of him. 

“Holy shit?” he says. “I literally thought you were just making that up.”

Offering up a shrug of his own, Isak follows Magnus up to where Jonas is standing. 

“Hipster weed!” Magnus says excitedly in Jonas’s ear.

Jonas pulls away from the girl and glances at Magnus, entirely unimpressed, before turning his eyes over to Isak and raising an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

“I’m chill,” Isak answers. Magnus just looks confused as hell. 

“Chill.” Jonas turns back to the girl, who’s painfully pretty and confident, and smiles at her. “I’ll catch you later,” he tells her, and she nods.

Magnus leads them back to the bathroom where Mahdi’s perched on the counter. 

“Oh,” Mahdi says when they come in, “you found them.”

“Isak was talking to some hot guy and Jonas was hooking up with some hot girl,” Magnus informs him.

“Hot guy?” Jonas asks, and Isak shakes his head imperceptibly. 

“Jonas, I can’t believe you left a girl to come smoke with these losers,” Mahdi jokes.

Jonas shrugs and grins, landing himself in the bathtub, and Isak folds into it beside him. They always seem to end up in the fucking bathtub. “Gotta leave them wanting more,” he says.

Sitting in the bathtub helps him to calm down. It might be more that he’s sitting next to Jonas, or that Mahdi’s sliding into the tub and passing him the water bottle, or that he’s finally able to rest his head against the wall and let his eyes flutter shut as he inhales. 

“God,” Magnus says after they sit in silence and pass the bong around a few times, “I fucking love hipster weed.”

“Can you stop saying that? Jesus Christ,” Mahdi says, shaking his head.

“I do!”

Isak is just starting to feel the high, and he must have been a lot drunker than he thought because his head kind of hurts and he feels nauseated instead of high. He’s not sure how, but he ends up sideways in the tub, his curls resting in Jonas’s lap and his legs in Mahdi’s. Eyes closed, he rests his forehead against Jonas’s stomach.

When he thinks about it, logically, when he’s hungover or when he’s stone cold sober, he knows that he drinks too much, smokes too much, occasionally takes whatever pill Jonas or Mahdi gets their hands on. And, like, it’s not necessarily healthy. But shit happens and it’s not like he has parents to yell at him. He’s got Eskild, who takes him to gay bars and kisses him on the cheeks with lips wet with some fruity drinks, and that’s it. So it’s fine. And sometimes he hooks up when girls who make him sick and sometimes lies to the police about his name, but it’s fine.

He’s lowkey dozing off when the door opens.

“Hey, man!” Magnus yells.

“Yo,” Jonas says lowly, and Isak groans, pinching his nose and tilting his head back against Jonas’s thigh. “Isak.”

“What,” Isak mutters.

Jonas lifts up his leg, forcing Isak up. He narrows his eyes at Jonas, who raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the door so that Isak looks up at the door. Yeah, fuck. 

Even looks really fucking amused.

“Hey,” Isak says, scrambling sloppily and ending up nearly falling out of Jonas’s lap.

“Hey,” Even says back, his tongue running over his lips, and wow, check that out, suddenly Isak’s head doesn’t hurt at all.They stare at each other for a second.

“You, uh,” Isak coughs, pulling his legs off of Mahdi, “want a hit?” 

Even doesn’t answer. He walks over to the spot where Isak’s now sitting upright, his legs slung over the side and his shoulders wedged between Jonas and Mahdi with the water bottle in his hands. Even kneels in front of him and Isak can’t exactly breathe. They’re at eye level. Isak just - he loses any concept of where they are and his brain is just screaming incessantly and all he can see is Even between his legs and Even smiling like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Isak. 

“Can I get that hit now?” he asks, eyes burning but still grinning. Isak offers it to him without saying anything.

He inhales, easy and slow, eyes still burrowing deep into Isak. Fucking hell, he can’t handle this, and he coughs and looks down at his hands where they’re knitting together against the fabric of his jeans. 

“Thanks,” Even says, passing the weed back to Isak, and he desperately tries to ignore the shock that hits him when their fingers brush together roughly. He thinks he manages to mumble a response, but honestly, he has no fucking idea. 

Even stands up slowly and Isak watches his legs stretch for miles. “I’ll see you around, Isak, yeah?”

Isak nods. Lumps in his throat and his heart thudding in his ears because Even looks so so so fucking good when he hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans like he’s doing right now and Isak is dying, Christ, he thinks he really is.

“Boys,” Even says, tipping his chin up to them in goodbye. Jonas nods and Magnus shoots him a sloppy salute. 

He leaves and they sit in silence for a second. Isak is just trying to catch his breath, because it feels like Even took all the oxygen in the room with him when he left.

“Yo, who was that guy?” Mahdi asks casually. And Isak can’t quite manage to answer.

“He’s friends with Isak, yeah?” Magnus chimes in. He’s not even really paying attention anymore, frowning with his head cocked sideways, staring at something on the wall across from them like there was something really,  _ really _ , interesting over there. 

Mahdi is looking at him expectantly. 

“Friend, yeah,” he says lamely.

“Okay,” Mahdi says, slow and still looking at him like there’s something more, so Jonas passes him the water bottle as a distraction that’s only evident to Isak and Jonas himself. Isak doesn’t say anything, but he leans into Jonas gently. It’s okay.

They chill in the bathtub for - well, Isak doesn’t know how long. It’s long enough that his legs hurt and Jonas’s head in heavy on his shoulder and Mahdi finally gives into Magnus and agrees to go back out into the party with him, be his wingman and get him a girl. The two of them leave and Jonas closes his eyes.

“You know I love you, right, Is?” he says slowly. 

“Yeah,” Isak says back. His heart swells heavy in his chest, and this time, it’s not because he’s half in love with the curly-haired boy on his shoulder, but because his best friend loves him even though he’s gay and even though the boy he hooked up with just came and smoked with them and even though the two of them are just hanging out and together and it’s Isak and Jonas, Jonas and Isak, just like they should be. 

Jonas falls asleep with a baggie of weed clutched to his chest. Isak tucks it into Jonas’s front pocket and watches him sleep for a second, face smushed into the side of the tub in a way that literally has to be uncomfortable. He leaves the bathroom gently, clicking the door shut behind him. It’s quiet for a second in the hallway. If he concentrates, he thinks, he can hear Jonas breathing deeply and easily in the bathroom. 

“Come outside,” a voice says.

“What?” Isak snaps open his eyes and leans up off the wall, his mouth hanging open slightly as Even raises his left eyebrow at him.

“Outside,” Even repeats, and then walks off.

Isak stands still for a solid three seconds before he hastens his step to follow Even, and Even reaches back to grab his hand in a way that brings him all the way back to last week, and holy shit, was that just last week? It’s felt like years since he’s held Even’s hand through a crowd. Everywhere that Even’s skin comes in contact with his own feels like he’s coming home, like the two of them are falling into place. Which is fucking disgusting. Wow. He’s gay as fuck.

They’re standing outside and Isak smells flowers, like the ones that his mom used to plant in the backyard. He breathes deeply. Even’s arm brushes against his. Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking gone, and his mind is simultaneously crystal clear and crowded with thought. Even’s just makes him - fuck. He doesn’t have words for it. Just that he’s never felt anything like this before, ever.

“Stars,” Even says. Calm and simple.

“What?” Isak asks again, always so fucking confused when it comes to Even.

“Stars. What are your thoughts on them?”

“Uh.”

Even looks at him in a weird way, half sad and half smiling, and he says, “Never mind.”

“No, I just -” Isak pushes his eyebrows together. “I fucking love stars.”

Even laughs shortly, a little shocked, “You do?”

“Well, yeah. So I have a, uh, a lot of thoughts on them,” Isak says. He coughs once and avoids Even’s gaze, which he can feel like a blanket over his shoulders. 

“They kind of freak me out,” Even says, leaning against the wall of the house and staring up at the sky above the two of them.

“In what way?”

“Nah,” Even says, narrowing his eyes and sounding like he’s trying really hard to put his thoughts into words (it’s fucking cute), “just like, when you look at the stars, you’re so insignificant, you know? Tiny. Like, nothing you ever do in your life ever matters in the long run, like you could die and it doesn’t affect anything or anyone.”

Isak considers Even’s words. It’s dark, sure, but he’s not wrong. It’s just that Isak doesn’t necessarily agree.

“Isn’t that what makes it so amazing, though?” he says. He’s aware that he’s nerding out, still a little high, talking too much and too enthusiastically, but he honestly lives for conversations like this and somehow in the past week, it’s changed so that he lives for Even looking down on him with a fond smile and awe in his blue eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, for example, all your fuckups are completely forgiven just because they don’t really matter, like you said.”

Even smirks. “You have a lot of fuckups, then?”

“No,” Isak says, rolling his eyes even though something inside of him is screaming  _ yes, I do, I fuck up and I’m fucked up and stop looking at me like that _ , “but just that there’s more out there than just us.”

“Yeah,” Even points out, “that’s what makes it so fucking terrifying.”

Isak shrugs and looks back at Even. “It’s comforting.”

They’re both quiet again, Isak breathing slowly, and he feels small under the stars in the best way, in his favorite way. In the way that he and Even are the only people to exist. The house behind them, thudding with music and yelling and lights, is completely nonexistent when there’s stars above them and Even beside him. 

Oh, fucking yikes. 

These are the things that he definitely should not be thinking about his one night stand that he didn’t even know existed until last week. But, like, it’s hard not to, when Even looks at him like that and takes him outside and talks to him about stars and he can’t decide if he wants to tell Even about quasars or drop to his knees and suck Even’s dick right there.

Fucking yikes is right.

“Smoke?” Even asks, tapping a carton of cigarettes against his leg.

“Fuck no,” Isak says as he wrinkles his nose. Even lets out a surprised huff of laughter.

“You don’t smoke cigarettes?”

“No?” Isak says, shocked. “They’re fucking nasty and also, like, cancer.”

“Isak,” Even says, and hearing his name from Even’s mouth definitely does not make him weak in the knees (it does), “you smoke pot.”

“Okay, yeah, and? That’s not as bad,” Isak argues.

“You’re still putting gross shit in your lungs, though!”

“At least pot is natural!”

Even chokes on laughter then, halfway through lighting a cigarette in his long fingers, and sputters out, “Oh my God, you’re one of  _ those _ guys?”

“One of what guys?” Isak asks, mock offended. He bites back the biggest smile he’s ever had.

“Pot is all natural good for you granola and jogging and holding hands with nature kind of guy,” Even says. Matter of fact.

“Okay, first of all, you don’t know me at all,” Isak says, and it kind of hits him in the chest with how much that’s true and how much he wants to change it. “You wanna know what I had for dinner tonight? And last night?”

Even raises an eyebrow in response. And, yeah, Isak hates cigarettes, but Even looks so fucking hot with it burning down between his fingertips and thin smoke swirling around his head. 

“Doritos.”

Even snorts. “Cool Ranch, at least?”

“No,” Isak says, smiling toothily at Even, “and I’m pretty sure they were stale.”

“You have to let me make you a real dinner sometime,” Even says, waving his hand in the air and trailing the burning end across the sky, and he’s still laughing but his eyes are telling Isak that he’s serious, and Isak is losing his breath again. Even making him dinner is, well, fuck. Oh God. It means a date, means going to Even’s house and watching him, like, make pasta for Isak and ask him what seasonings he likes and sitting across from him at a dinner table and that image is part hot as hell and part domestic as hell and he really needs to control himself because his heart is beating way too fast.

“Fuck you, I can cook for myself,” he says, shaky, but Even doesn’t seem to notice. He bumps Isak’s shoulder with his own and laughs. 

“You’re a chef, then?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, “the fucking master of cooking. You don’t even know.”

“I’d like to,” Even answers quietly. 

If Isak thought Even took his breath away before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s air caught in his lungs, frozen, and he’s staring at Even, who’s just answered a question that he didn’t even ask.

“Okay,” Isak says. There’s a little smile between his cheeks and he jerks his chin up at Even, once, in agreement.

“We can do that?”

“We can.” 

There’s a moment then where they’re both just looking into each other, smiling softly, and it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else, but it’s Even and it’s okay. It’s better than okay. It feels like  _ something _ , or like it could turn into something. Even wants it to turn into something - wants to make him dinner, get to know him, has  _ no girlfriend _ , and he’s amazed. Christ.

“Chill,” Even says, suddenly dropping the cigarette and stomping it out on the concrete beneath them. He reaches into his back pocket and whips out his phone, offering it to Isak without saying a word, and Isak looks at it blankly.

“Your number,” Even clarifies, smiling like Isak’s cute as hell. 

“Oh,” Isak says, shuffling towards Even and grabbing the phone, “uh, yeah.” He puts in his number on autopilot. 

“I’ll send you a text about that dinner, then,” Even says, taking his phone and walking backwards, still grinning at Isak.

Isak murmurs in response and watches Even go back into the party, turning around and immediately getting lost in the crowd. 

The sky feels infinitely bigger without him.

Leaning back against the wall, Isak tilts his head back, resting it gently on the bricks. He’s so fucked. In a different way than he was last Friday night, but, like, yeah. This is definitely a full-fledged crush now, and he’s not fucking about it. He doesn’t even know Even’s last name, for fuck’s sake, and he’s only known him for a literal week. But it’s something different. It’s a boy that looks at him like he  _ matters _ . 

He stands out there until Jonas stumbles through the door to join him.

“Yo,” he says blearily, “Mags and Mahdi went home. You wanna go?”

Isak takes one last look at the stars and lets out an exhale that comes from his gut. “Yeah.”

He definitely does not look for Even on the way out and definitely does not feel disappointed when he doesn’t see him.


	2. two.

**SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 2016**

**12:01**

Someone’s crying when Isak wakes up. He pulls himself out of bed, a little confused, eyes narrowed and propped up on his elbows. At first he thinks it’s Linn. Throwing on a shirt from the floor, he makes his way out into the living room warily, and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Eskild curled up on the couch.

“Uh, hi,” he says cautiously. He and Eskild have a good relationship, sure, but not the kind where they cry together, or the kind where he approaches Eskild.

Eskild sniffs and straightens his t-shirt, the one with Jesus on the front, and says, “Isak! Hi.” He’s trying to be cheerful, but he’s still crying. 

Isak eyes him skeptically. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Eskild says, waving his hand in the air nonchalantly. The gesture falls flat as his chest heaves and he sniffles.

“Okay…” Isak says, drawn out, “then why are you crying?”

“That’s, uh, well,” he pauses before admitting, “boy trouble.”

“Oh.” At this point, he can either just let Eskild cry alone on the couch or actually talk to him. Isak takes a beat to decide. He wavers, reminds himself of all the shit Eskild’s done for him, and then plops down on the cushions beside him.

Eskild kind of jumps, but Isak’s already committed to sitting there. He looks at Eskild and nods. Once. Just to let him know that it’s okay to talk.

“Aw,” Eskild purrs through his tears, “you wanna talk? To me?”

“Eskild, if you act like this is a breakthrough, I swear to God, I’ll leave,” he warns. 

“No, no, come here,” Eskild says, raising his arm so that Isak can tuck himself under it, which is possibly one of his favorite things, but he’s only done it with Eskild, like, twice, so there’s no way for him to know that. Isak settles in next to Eskild and immediately feels like going back to sleep right there on his shoulder.

“It’s just,” Eskild sighs, running his hand through Isak’s bedhead, “I’m tired of guys always leaving the morning after, yeah? Like, don’t get me wrong, I fucking love meaningless sex and blowjobs to some good music, but at the same time, there’s this part of me that wants someone to, uh, love me? Or not love me, but just show an interest in me. Talk to me about something. I don’t know,” he half laughs, wiping tears, “I’m being dumb, don’t pay attention to me.”

“You’re not being dumb,” Isak says, tilting his head up to Eskild. He’s still sleepy enough to be soft towards Eskild. That’s what he tells himself, at least, because the truth it’s just because he and Eskild both need it right now.

“Yeah, Isak, I know I am. You can tell me,” Eskild says. He presses his knuckles into the inner corners of his eyes and sniffles.

Isak shakes his head with a little frown. He takes a moment to think before he speaks, slowly, hair barely brushing against Eskild’s face, and finally says, “You’re not being dumb. You deserve to be listened to, and, like, you’re worth it. Or something. I mean, I don’t know shit. But, uh, yeah.” 

A shocked silence follows. “Oh my God, Isak, I didn’t know you had so much love in that little grumpy teenage body of yours,” he says, pulling Isak even closer and ignoring the way Isak scrunches up his nose like he hates it (he loves it), and he presses a wet kiss to Isak’s forehead. 

“Shut the fuck up and let me pee,” Isak mumbles. 

“Ugh, fine,” Eskild says, throwing open his arms and giving Isak a real, honest, Eskild-level smile. “Go pee, pretty boy.”

Isak flicks him off going around the corner.

**SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 2016**

**14:54**

Isak is making toast and searching in the kitchen for something else to eat when his phone buzzes obnoxiously on the counter. 

**Unknown Number:** _ (14:54)  _ Hey what’s up it’s Even

Actually I just realized that you’re probably eating Doritos right now soooo

He looks down at his left hand, clenched around a bag of Doritos, and he feels called out as hell. God. Isak finds himself smiling down at his phone and he slowly returns the Doritos to his shelf on the cabinet. It’s such a cliche, really - his heart beating faster just because of a message, blah blah blah. He’s kind of in love with this feeling.

**Isak:** _ (14:57)  _ I’m eating fucking caviar thanks

**Even:** _ (14:59)  _ Sugar daddy vibes

**Isak:** _ (15:01)  _ Bye

**Even:** _ (15:01)  _ :(

You don’t like being called daddy?

**Isak:** _ (15:02)  _ How’d you get this number I literally don’t know you

**Even:** _ (15:02)  _ Way harsh Tai

“Isak,” Linn says, standing in the kitchen doorway in a plain blue sweatshirt.

He whips his head up from his phone, typing out a response, and widens his eyes at the sight of her. 

She looks at him blankly. “Are you going to eat that toast?”

“Oh,” he says. He’s kind of completely forgotten about the fact that he was hungry and also that he was making food. “Uh, yeah. Actually.”

Linn doesn’t respond. She hunches a bit, looking at some spot behind Isak, and then moves over to the fridge and takes out a gallon of milk. It’s, like, one of the first times that Isak’s been alone in a room with her. This is weird. She chugs a few sips, wipes her mouth, and then shuffles out of the room, slowly, like she’s still asleep, and leaves Isak standing there with his eyes narrowed. Yeah. Okay.

**Even:** _(15:02)_ What film?

**Isak:** _ (15:05)  _ What?

**Even:** _ (15:05)  _ Haha we’ll watch it when I make you dinner

But you’re definitely more of a Cher than a Tai 

**Isak:** _ (15:06)  _ ...okay?

He’s propped up on the counter, leaning against the cabinets behind him, smiling down at his phone. Even’s confusing, but, like, that’s nothing new. The toast is getting cold beside his thigh.

**Even:** _ (15:07)  _ You’ll get it eventually

**Isak:** _ (15:09)  _ When we go out for dinner and a movie

**Even:** _ (15:09)  _ Yes

_ (15:10)  _ Stay in for dinner and a movie actually

**Isak:** _ (15:12)  _ Wow how domestic

**Even:** _ (15:12)  _ Only because you already know where my house is

Wow. Shit. Okay, he didn’t realize that this was something they were going to talk about. Or bring up. Or acknowledge at all. It’s kind of refreshing, actually. It lets Isak know that Even didn’t forget about him, and lets him feel that Even sees him as something more than a quick fuck he found in the bathroom of a gay bar, or someone to rant to about stars when parties get too much. There’s something else here.

**Isak:** _ (15:13)  _ I don’t tho

Jonas had to come get me

**Even:** _ (15:15)  _ Damn that’s true

Maybe I’ll invite him over for a date

Already have his number

Isak feels his breath catch as soon as he reads the word  _ date _ on his screen. He’d thought it, sure, but seeing it come from Even’s own fingers, knowing he had to sit there and type it out, is nothing short of shaking.

**Isak:** _ (15:15)  _ Go ahead he’ll reject you

**Even:** _ (15:16)  _ Really? Reject me?

**Isak:** _ (15:17)  _ Yeah he’s way out of your league

**Even:** _ (15:17)  _ Well so are you

And you said yes

**Isak:** _ (15:18)  _ Technically I was intoxicated

**Even:** _ (15:19)  _ Are you intoxicated right now

**Isak:** _ (15:19)  _ Can you get high off of caviar

**Even:** _ (15:19)  _ Hey Isak

It’s the simplest fucking text Even’s sent, but it makes him blush so hard that he can feel his cheeks and ears burning. Just because it’s a reminder that Even’s talking to him. Even wants to talk to him. Even knows who he is and has seen him naked and still wants Isak. Oh, fuck. He’s so fucked.

**Isak:** _ (15:19)  _ Hey Even

**Even:** _ (15:20)  _ Wanna come over on Friday to eat my famous homemade pizza and watch shitty nineties movies

Isak bites his lips and exhales, long and gentle, cross legged on the kitchen counter.

**Isak:** _ (15:20)  _ That’s chill

**Even:** _ (15:21)  _ You’re so fucking enthusiastic

**Isak:** _ (15:22)  _ Would it be better for you if I added a fuckton of exclamation marks

Okay, so, if a fuckton of exclamation marks is closer to how he actually feels about a date, Even doesn’t have to know. Ever.

**Even:** _ (15:25)  _ Yeah

So good for me baby

Isak definitely makes a mistake. He finally remembered the toast and he’s just put it in his mouth and started chewing when the text from Even comes through, and that’s the mistake, because he almost fucking chokes. Toast is scratching at his throat and this is how he dies. He will die on the kitchen counter choking on cold fucking toast with sex flashbacks in his mind and his phone buzzing in his goddamn hand. Death.

**Isak:** _ (15:26)  _ Shut the fuck up

I changed my mind I can’t come on Friday

**Even:** _ (15:26)  _ Wow presumptuous I didn’t say anything about coming

That’s when Isak yelps. Like, an actual, audible yelp. Eskild comes in looking all concerned.

“Isak? Did you burn yourself or something?”

Isak’s staring down at his phone and blushing red. 

“Dick pic?” Eskild asks excitedly, and Isak barely even hears him over the blood rushing in his ears.

**Isak:** _ (15:27)  _ Yeah bye

**Even:** _ (15:28)  _ Always leaving me

“Was that a yes for the nudes, then?” Eskild says.

“What - no, Eskild. No.”

Eskild pulls himself up onto the counter beside Isak and nudges him gently.

“You can tell me,” he whines, blinking his eyelashes, “we had a breakthrough this morning, my God!”

Locking his phone against Eskild’s eyes, Isak presses his head back on the cabinet and shoots Eskild a look. “Boy trouble,” he mimics.

“Spill,” Eskild says, like an order. 

“Uh,” Isak says, wrinkling his nose, “remember that guy I hooked up with last week?”

Eskild’s eyes widen dramatically and he clicks his tongue. “Mysterious hickey giver?”

“Yeah,” Isak snorts. “Uh, he goes to Nissen, so, like we talked. On Friday, at a party, but, like, just us, and he asked me on a date. And now he’s teasing me.”

Silence. Eskild is just looking at him. “Oh, fuck you,” he says, throwing his legs over the counter and landing back on solid ground. 

“Huh?”

“You’re a baby gay and you’ve got your first one night stand taking you on dates and making you blush! Boyfriend material!” 

“It’s not like that,” Isak argues. 

“Yeah, Isak, I’m not mad. I’m actually so happy for you. You deserve love, too, you know?” 

Isak ducks his head. He’s blushing for a different reason now. “Thanks, Eskild.”

“But do you like him?  _ Like _ him like him?” Eskild says, leaning with his hand on Isak’s knee. He takes one look at Isak’s face and gasps. “Oh, my God, you totally do.”

“I’m going to my room,” he announces. He rolls his eyes as he slides off the counter to head to his bedroom, Eskild’s little squeals behind him until he slams the door shut and flops face down onto his bed. 

**Isak:** _ (15:32)  _ You deserve it for that one

**Even:** _ (15:32)  _ Wow you took so long to reply I thought I killed you

**Isak:** _ (15:33)  _ You almost did

My roommate had to come check on me because he thought I burned myself on the stove

**Even:** _ (15:34)  _ Roommate? You don’t live with your parents?

It’s way too soon to have this conversation. Way too soon to reveal how fucked up he is, how fucked up his entire family is, and he chews at the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.

**Isak:** _ (15:35)  _ Did you miss the part where I was using the stove

Like a responsible adult who doesn’t live with his parents

**Even:** _ (15:35)  _ Were you really though

**Isak:** _ (15:35)  _ Fuck off

**Even:** _ (15:36)  _ HA that’s a no

**Isak:** _ (15:37)  _ Anyways

You live with your parents?

Please tell me they weren’t home last week

**Even:** _ (15:37)  _ Oh god no

**Isak:** _ (15:38)  _ Just checking

**Even:** _ (15:38)  _ They won’t be home on friday either

In case you were wondering about that too

**Isak:** _ (15:38)  _ I’m not that easy

**Even:** _ (15:39)  _ I beg to differ

We slept together after talking about recycling in the bathroom

**Isak:** _ (15:40)  _ FUCK off

**Even:** _ (15:40)  _ Is that the only thing you can say to me

**Isak:** _ (15:41)  _ Fuck! Off!

**Even:** _ (15:41)  _ Never!

**Isak:** _ (15:41)  _ Don’t make me block your number

**Even:** _ (15:42)  _ I don’t think you physically could

**Isak:** _ (15:43)  _ My hand is literally over the button right now

Give me one good reason

**Even:** _ (15:44)  _ Don’t block me I’m a good person

One time I saved a kitten

**Isak:** _ (15:44)  _ Wait really

**Even:** _ (15:44)  _ No

_ (15:45)  _ It was actually a puppy but you seem like more of a cat guy

**Isak:** _ (15:45)  _ I can’t believe you just played me like that

A puppy would have worked

**Even:** _ (15:46)  _ You want to hear my puppy salvation story

**Isak:** _ (15:46)  _ I mean yes

**Even:** _ (15:47)  _ So I’m visiting my grandparents and it’s like three in the morning and I wanted to go on a walk and I go out and find myself in this abandoned building

And it was fucking cool and I was taking pictures and all

_ (15:48)  _ And then I heard this little crying and I thought that it was a baby or some shit and I was like oh my god what do I do with a baby

_ (15:49)  _ But then I go to this door and there’s a little puppy behind it

And then I saved a puppy

**Isak:** _ (15:49)  _ I was wrong a kitten would have been cuter

**Even:** _ (15:49)  _ Fuck you my dog is the cutest

**Isak:** _ (15:50)  _ Oh cuter than me?

**Even:** _ (15:50)  _ Tough competition

I’ll have to see the two of you together on Friday to decide

**Isak:** _ (15:51)  _ You’re bringing your dog on our date

**Even:** _ (15:52)  _ Obviously

Any potential significant other must meet my dog’s approval first

**Isak:** _ (15:53)  _ Isn’t it supposed to be parents

**Even:** _ (15:54)  _ I care more about my dog’s opinion than my mom and dad’s

Or most people’s

**Isak:** _ (15:55)  _ So edgy

**Even:** _ (15:56)  _ Welcome to my dark twisted mind

**Isak:** _ (15:56)  _ I love Jared Leto as the Joker

**Even:** _ (15:57)  _ We don’t talk about that movie

**Isak:** _ (15:57)  _ Not even to make fun of?

**Even:** _ (15:58)  _ No

It literally doesn’t exist

**Isak:** _ (15:59)  _ Are you saying that everyone who saw it in theaters had a collective fever dream

**Even:** _ (16:00)  _ Did you see it in the theaters

**Isak:** _ (16:01)  _ ……..

**Even:** _ (16:01)  _ Oh my god

You did

**Isak:** _ (16:01)  _ Blame Jonas

**Even:** _ (16:02)  _ No I definitely blame you

Jonas seems cool

**Isak:** _ (16:03)  _ You’ve only met him twice

**Even:** _ (16:03)  _ I’ve only met you twice too

**Isak:** _ (16:04)  _ Different circumstances

He honestly can’t believe it. Like, here’s Isak Valtersen, chilling in his room and flirting with a boy over text, and not just any boy, but a hot boy, one that he already slept with, and one that’s going to take him on a date. It’s kind of fucking surreal.

They text until Even has to go have dinner with his parents, and Isak falls asleep at 18:00 with his phone tucked under his head.

**SUNDAY, AUGUST 28, 2016**

**09:13**

Isak wakes up early. Or, well, not exactly early for most of the people in the world, but fucking early for him. 

“Yeah, but, Noora, listen, that’s not healthy,” Eskild’s saying into his phone when Isak stumbles into the kitchen to desperately grab at the coffee that Eskild made. “Creamer in the fridge,” Eskild tells him as he covers the mouthpiece.

Isak grunts in response and pours his coffee into the mug he always uses, one with an astronaut on it that Jonas bought him from a thrift store. He drinks it black, because he hates himself. Obviously. He winces against the bitter taste as Eskild continues to explain to Noora that William’s an abusive dick. Isak couldn’t care less. 

“You can’t let one person become your everything,” Eskild says. Something in that sentence nags at Isak’s gut a little, but he ignores it when his phone vibrates.

**Even:** _ (09:18)  _ Good morning beautiful

**Isak:** _ (09:19)  _ Ugh

**Even:** _ (09:20)  _ Not a morning person I see

**Isak:** _ (09:21)  _ Morning people don’t exist they’re a myth

**Even:** _ (09:21)  _ I’m a morning person

**Isak:** _ (09:21)  _ Bullshit

**Even:** _ (09:22)  _ I got up and went for a walk at like seven

**Isak:** _ (09:23)  _ Why.

**Even:** _ (09:23)  _ Because it’s nice?

**Isak:** _ (09:24)  _ You’re fucking disgusting

**Even:** _ (09:25)  _ Don’t be rude

Honestly, he thinks it’s another text from Even when he first opens it. It’s the only reason he opens it, actually. He usually just lets these messages sit on his screen unopened until he can’t ignore them any longer, and then he opens them and pretends like he never read them in the first place. Good system. Usually works. Doesn’t work this time.

**Pappa:** _ (09:26)  _ Hi Isak, it’s your father. I know that you haven’t been answering your mother. She’s very stressed right now, so it would be good for her if you answered her texts or came home for a visit. Let me know if you need anything. Hugs, Pappa

Isak stares blankly at the message. He can’t fucking deal with this shit right now. He moved out, he moved away, he got his parents out of his life as much as he could and they’re still in it too much, and he can’t handle it. He just wants to be a normal kid. Wants to text the guy he likes and blush in the kitchen and finish his science homework and eat Doritos and not have to do this, where his mom is losing her shit and his dad can’t be bothered. Fuck. 

Hands shaking, he deletes the message and returns back to Even. He shoots off some flirty reply that he can’t even remember, because his mind is still spiraling into darkness thinking about his parents, and he hates that he’s so messed up that he can’t enjoy this conversation with Even because he’s freaking out from a single fucking text message. He hates himself, hates his parents, hates this situation. Because he’s trying. He really is. He’s building his own family with Jonas and the boys and Eskild and it’s still not enough. It’s never going to be enough. 

**MONDAY, AUGUST 29, 2016**

**15:45**

Who the fuck let school be this hard, honestly? It’s only one week in and Isak’s already swamped with tests and quizzes and papers and assignments and the teachers just keep expecting more, so he knows he’s going to have to finish everything and he’s already tired because he couldn’t sleep last night thinking about his mom and now he’s here, in line at KB to get coffee, debating adding a shot of espresso.

Isak shuffles his feet as he searches for coins in his pockets. If he has enough for that damn shot of espresso, then he’s fucking getting it.

“Isak.”

His head jerks up, because he knows that voice deep in his bones and Even’s standing right there. He’s all windswept and gorgeous in a gray shirt and his backpack over one shoulder. They’ve been texting all weekend, sure, but only a few messages sent sparsely during the day today, and a  _ date _ on Friday, and add onto that the fact that Isak really did not expect to see him here. The end result is Isak blushing under Even’s gaze.

“Hi,” he squeaks out. 

“Hi,” a third voice says, and wow, Isak must be really fucking gone for Even because he didn’t even see the girl standing beside him. She looks familiar, though. Isak stares at her for a second trying to place her, and then she introduces herself with a beautiful bright smile. 

“I’m Sonja. Even’s girlfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENTER ANGST!
> 
> i ended up splitting this chapter so part two will be up in a week i just wanna see yall suffer some


	3. iii

**MONDAY, AUGUST 29, 2016**

**15:57**

He should have known. He should have fucking known. Of fucking course Even was still with that girl, of fucking course, because when has Isak ever been someone’s first choice? The answer’s never. 

He’s stumbling through the front door with what feels like tears on his cheeks, but he’s not really sure, because he doesn’t really remember the rest of the conversation or walking home or anything other than the look of pity on Even’s face when Sonja was speaking.

Actually, when he thinks about it, he probably deserves this. 

It’s his own goddamn fault for being so fucking naive. For believing that Even could actually, what, like him? Love him? God. He’s so fucking stupid. Like, you think he would’ve learned by now.

He’s laughing now, or, half laughing and half crying into his pillowcase and that’s fine, because at least he didn’t break down in the middle of that fucking coffee shop like he wanted to, at least Even didn’t see him like this, because then he  _ really _ would have left him. 

That’s stupid. Even didn’t leave him. Even was never really here. It was all in his fucking head, wasn’t it? Shit. 

He can’t believe that he actually thought it was real. He actually thought that he was going to go on a date with Even. He’d even began to allow himself to picture it - sitting on Even’s couch and watching him scroll through Netflix, a dog laying at their feet and Even’s arm around his shoulder and pizza and laughter on his lips. Jesus Christ, this is just another lesson on Why Isak Valtersen Can’t Have Nice Things. He always fucking ruins it. 

**MONDAY, AUGUST 29, 2016**

**18:14**

It’s a few hours before he shifts into anger. And after reading over his texts with Even a couple times (three, to be exact), that anger is directed at Even. Like, he still fucking hates himself for falling for it, but, honestly, fuck Even for doing this. Fuck Even for taking him home and leaving marks on his skin that took way too long to fade, fuck Even for whispering words that he still dreamed about, fuck Even for asking him about stars, fuck Even for making him feel like he mattered and then turning around and kissing his girlfriend as Isak was walking out of that godforsaken coffee shop, kissing her with the same lips he kissed Isak with, and fuck Even. Fuck him. 

**MONDAY, AUGUST 29, 2016**

**22:06**

Sonja’s really pretty, like, model pretty. And it’s not like Isak’s crying over her Facebook profile in his bed, because he’s not. He’s crying over other things. Her Facebook profile just happens to be what’s open on his phone at that exact moment. 

It’s no fucking wonder that Even had that framed picture of her beside his bed, because pictures of them go all the way back to, like, 2012, when Even was a gangly kid and Sonja was still just as pretty as she is now. Isak wonders, the thought dull in his head, if Sonja knows that he and Even slept together. Or if she even knows that Even likes boys. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he was just doing it for a laugh. Maybe Isak would have shown up to his house on Friday and it would’ve been a fucking Carrie-type situation, and Even would have been laughing at him and Sonja would have been there with her pretty mouth open wide and clutching at her thin stomach and holding onto Even’s arm. 

**TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2016**

**01:38**

He’s overreacting. It’s that weird feeling where he knows he’s overreacting, but he still can’t stop himself. He tries to slow down his mind and rationalize it.

This probably happens to other people all the time. It could have been worse. What if he and Even had started dating and he found out that he was the side hoe like six months into it? Actually, that probably wouldn’t do anything. He’d be chill with being a side hoe if it meant Even would still look at him like that, and talk to him like that. Oh, fucking hell. He has to stop thinking like this. Even probably never saw him as more than a little thing to fuck and then lead on, which is further proved by the fact that Even didn’t even mean for him to meet Sonja today (yesterday) and was actually going to have him over on Friday.

**TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2016**

**03:16**

Isak’s playing every interaction he’s ever had with Even over and over in his mind, and he’s thinking that he made up all the things he saw in Even’s face or heard in Even’s voice. 

The night that Even brought him home, Even had asked Isak if he was drunk before he kissed him, but Isak never asked Even. There’s a chance that Even was drunk and Isak was just so desperate for love and attention, so desperate for another person, that he just ignored it and kissed Even anyways. 

There’s a chance that Even approached him at that party because Even’s a fucking nice guy, other than the whole cheating on his girlfriend thing. Or maybe he didn’t cheat. Isak doesn’t fucking know anymore.

There’s a chance that all those text messages weren’t even flirty, just Isak projecting and seeing what he wanted, because he’s a fucking awful human being and he hates himself he hates himself he hates himself and he’s crying again, tears leaking down his nose into his pillow and his throat feels like it’s tight as hell because he’s trying not to make noise. 

**TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2016**

**10:01**

He skips school because his eyes are red and swollen and he feels like death.

“Isak?” Eskild asks, all alarmed when he pokes his head into Isak’s room to check if he’s going to school. “Are you okay?”

Isak’s propped up in bed watching some cartoon on his laptop. He stays quiet because he knows that if he starts talking right now, it’ll just be more tears, except he’s probably all cried out. “Boy trouble,” he says eventually. 

Eskild sits down beside him and opens his arm so Isak can curl into him. 

“Talk to your guru,” Eskild instructs.

“Eskild, I really don’t want to,” he whines. “I just want to wallow in sadness and watch Bob’s Burgers and eat Chips Ahoy.” 

“Okay. I don’t have to be at work until a little later, so is it okay if I join you?” Eskild says, his hand resting gently on Isak’s shoulder. Isak partly wants to tell him to fuck off, tell him that he doesn’t need to be babied like this. But the real, honest part of him, the part that’s still a little raw and tender from everything that’s happened, is literally dying from how nice that sounds. So he just nods into Eskild’s chest.

“He’s back together with his girlfriend,” Isak says in a monotone after they’ve watched a few minutes. “Except he didn’t tell me.”

Eskild’s silent, thinking, while Linda sings on the screen. “But he was going to take you on a date on Friday?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, hating how his voice trembles. “Or I thought he was. And now I feel like I made half of it up and I feel gross as fuck.”

“Okay, I’m going to ask you the same thing I always ask Noora,” Eskild says firmly. Isak turns against him to shoot a questioning look up at him. “How honest would you like me to be?”

“Not too honest, maybe,” Isak says in a small voice. He hates that. He hates how small he sounds, how small he feels, and he adds, “or, no, fuck it. Just say it like it is.”

There’s another small silence, and then Eskild’s voice rumbles against Isak’s temples, saying haltingly, “I mean, I know a lot of… guys that are in heterosexual relationships who sleep with guys. That’s pretty normal, but not a lot of guys leave their girlfriends. So, it’s not very likely that he’ll actually break up with her. There’s sort of the whole safety net of that. But, Isak, listen to me.” He presses his hand against Isak’s cheek and speaks more urgently. “You didn’t make this up. This is real and it hurts, but it hurts because it’s real. You’re not a bad person for wanting to be loved, okay? You’re not a bad person.” 

Isak can’t tell if he wants to roll his eyes or cry. In the end, he settles for a little bit of both, glancing up and sniffling a little as he says, “God. Why are we both such a mess?”

“Because boys are assholes,” Eskild says with a sad little smile.

“Boys are assholes,” Isak agrees.

They go back to watching the show.

**TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2016**

**Jonas:** _ (12:15)  _ Hey is everything okay?

**Magnus:** _ (12:42)  _ Isak bro where are you

**Sana:** _ (13:18)  _ Hi Isak, you missed class today, so I thought I’d let you know that we have to read chapter seven and answer the questions at the end.

**Eskild:** _ (13:50)  _ Stopping by the grocery store later what flavor of heartbreak ice cream do you want

**Mamma:** _ (14:00)  _ Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him and He will make your paths straight!!!!

**Magnus:** _ (14:39)  _ Here’s a concept.

A spoon but it feeds you

**Mahdi:** _ (14:42)  _ No

**Jonas:** _ (14:45)  _ No

**Eskild:** _ (15:14)  _ I got you cookie dough

**Pappa:** _ (15:20)  _ Have you heard from your mother recently? She isn’t answering my calls. Hope all is well. Hugs, Pappa

**Jonas:** _ (15:59)  _ Seriously man let me know if you need anything

I’m here yeah

**Emma:** _ (16:40)  _ Hi Isak, this is Emma. We met at the party last weekend. I’m hosting on Friday and I was wondering if you and some friends wanted to stop by? I can send you the address xx

**WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 31, 2016**

**11:40**

“Isak, you’d tell me if I smelled weird, right?” Magnus asks him desperately. Isak hasn’t been paying attention to this conversation at all, and he blinks a couple times.

“You smell fine, Mags,” he says blankly.

The boys all stare at him. “Wow, no roast to follow that up?” Mahdi eventually asks, reaching deep into a bag of chips and leaning back in his chair.

“Sorry,” Isak says. He runs a hand over his eyes and into his hair. “I’m just not, uh, feeling it today. Haven’t been sleeping and shit.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where Isak Valtersen was too tired for a sassy comeback,” Mahdi continues to rib him. He twitches his lips up into something that might resemble a smile. 

“I’m not complaining,” Magnus says. He reaches over and snags a piece of Isak’s bread, and Isak is too fucking dead to slap his hand away, so he just watches the food flail around between Magnus’s teeth as he chews with his mouth open. Isak feels sick.

He clears his throat and pushes his seat back. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he says as he stands, shaking his hands to try and get some feeling back into them.

It’s a weird situation. He’s standing up and all the boys are looking at him with different expressions on their faces - Magnus looks all innocent and eager to please like a goddamn golden retriever, Mahdi looks cool and unconcerned with Isak, and Jonas, well, fuck, Jonas looks like Isak’s just about the saddest thing he’s ever seen. It makes him feel like he  _ is  _ sad, which maybe he is, but he’s also just numb. He wants all the drama to be over with, so he escapes to the bathroom.

He puts his wrists under the water like he usually does when things get to be a little too much. It’s what he was doing when he first met Even, he realizes, and the thought is so obscure and lame that he almost chokes with laughter. Focus, he reminds himself. The cold is starting to hurt in his veins. Good.

That’s where he is when Jonas pulls open the door and leans back against it.

“I’m fine,” Isak says shortly before Jonas can open his mouth.

“No the fuck you’re not,” Jonas snaps back.

“You can’t tell me how I feel.”

“You’re not fine,” Jonas says as firm as Isak’s ever heard him. “You look like shit, you sound like shit, you skipped school and didn’t answer messages, you’re like a fucking zombie. And don’t tell me that it’s because you’re tired, because that’s some bullshit.”

Isak rolls his eyes and shuts off the water.

“Is your mom okay?” Jonas asks, eyes flashing with a new level of concern and he steps closer to Isak. 

“Yeah,” Isak answers automatically. He loves Jonas, a little too much sometimes, but he really hates that Jonas knows him this well. Hates that Jonas is close enough to him to know all the shit that’s gone down with his mom - fuck, Jonas was  _ there _ for most of it. He hates that Jonas has to look out for him. He hates that he’s such a fucking burden on Jonas, that Jonas can’t have a normal lunch with their friends without Isak fucking ruining it. 

“Okay,” Jonas says. He’s just humoring Isak at this point. “Then what the fuck is going on?”

“There’s nothing going on,” Isak says thinly. It’s a weak lie and he knows and Jonas knows it and the fucking fruit fly that’s buzzing on the countertop knows it. 

“Fine. I can’t force you to say anything,” Jonas says. He sounds angry and Isak feels himself flinch against his words. Jonas moves up beside him, turning on the other sink and beginning to wash his hands silently. 

It would be so easy to talk to Jonas right there. The words hang heavy right behind Isak’s teeth -  _ You know that guy Even? My dad’s been asking me to go visit. My mom won’t stop texting and I think it’s getting worse. I can’t sleep. Everything’s fucked.  _ \- and he clenches his jaw to keep them back. He’s already put too much on Jonas. Plus, he’s talked to Eskild about the whole Even mess, and he’s been handling his parents just fine for his entire fucking life, and he can drink coffee and do sit ups to tire himself out before bed and he’s dealing with it. He’s fine and Jonas can fuck all the way off. Or, actually, he admonishes himself, that’s not fair. It’s not Jonas’s fault. It’s his.

“I’m sorry,” Isak says at last. Jonas dries his hands and sighs.

“You’re always sorry.” He says it like it’s a bad thing, and Isak doesn’t know why, but it fucking stings where Jonas’s words hit his skin. “It’s fine, Isak,” he continues tiredly, “just let me know if you want to talk.”

“I will.” It’s a hollow promise that echoes around the bathroom.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 2016**

**03:34**

Even’s talking to Mahdi outside of the school and Isak can’t breathe. He’s half afraid and half angry and his feet keep carrying him over to the two of them because he’s supposed to be meeting Mahdi and Jonas to go play video games at Jonas’s house, that’s the plan, the plan is meet  _ right  _ where Even’s standing, and Even’s always fucking up his plans, isn’t he?

“Isak, my man,” Mahdi says, clapping his shoulder. Isak barely feels it. He can’t feel anything but the way his shoes are rubbing against his heels and the weight of Even’s eyes on him.

“Hey, Isak,” Even says softly, and yeah, suddenly Isak’s a lot less afraid and a lot more angry. Who gave him the fucking right to act like everything’s okay? Isak shoots him a look that’s full of daggers and for the first time he feels like he can look Even in the eye. It’s kind of satisfying, actually, to watch him reel under the intensity of Isak’s gaze, flinching away like Isak has some kind of power over him. It lets Isak stand a little straighter (hah) and tilt his chin up.

Mahdi’s talking to Isak casually, completely oblivious to what’s going on. “- be okay if Jonas just meets us there because he has to do something for his sister, I don’t know.”

“Uh, yeah,” Isak says, turning away from Even to answer Mahdi, trying to think about actively blocking Even from his mind. He can think about it later. When it’s dark and silent and he’s crying, but whatever. 

Even shifts uncomfortably. Good. “I’m gonna head out,” he says. “Nice talking to you, Mahdi. Text me about that deal, yeah?”

“Of course. Thanks, bro,” Mahdi nods as Even walks backwards away from them. Isak’s entire body feels hot and he thinks his hands are shaking. Even has no right, no  _ fucking  _ right, to act all buddy-buddy with Isak’s friends and come into his space like this, like he knows Isak and they’re friends, and Isak wants to yell. He just wants to kneel on the ground of Nissen’s courtyard and yell, because fuck Even Bech Nӕsheim and fuck Isak for being this weak and fuck Jonas for not being there and fuck Mahdi for not knowing and fuck the universe for making this shit happen to him. Just  _ fuck _ everything. 

He and Mahdi are walking now and he’s starting to cool down. It’s kind of fucked up that being near Even can affect him so greatly every single time, but a lot of things about Isak are kind of fucked up, so he can’t really act like he’s surprised about this one. Even just multiplies whatever he’s feeling at that moment. That was, you know, great during the whole sex thing, but now it just makes him feel completely out of control, which he hates.

Mahdi checks his phone. They’re not too close, and they usually have Jonas or Mags with them as a buffer, so it’s pretty uncommon that it’s just Isak and Mahdi together. Isak’s too wrapped up in his head to make awkward small talk. Thankfully, Mahdi isn’t necessarily an awkward small talk kind of guy, and they make it to Jonas’s without anything interesting happening. 

“Hey, boys,” Jonas says when he opens the door. Isak and Mahdi both murmur in response and kick off their shoes in the front hallway. 

Isak leads the way back into Jonas’s living room and flops down on the couch, somewhere that’s always been a safe place for him. He came here last year when his house was too quiet from his dad’s absence and his mom sleeping off the change in medication. He came here two years ago when his house was too loud from the screaming and throwing plates and fighting. He came here three years ago when his parents put down his dog, and four years ago when he broke his arm climbing the big tree in Jonas’s neighbor’s yard, and five years ago when he broke his skateboard and cried because he thought his dad would be mad at him. Jonas has always been that safe place for him. And, he thinks bitterly, when has he ever done that for Jonas? Never. It’s time that he handle his own shit and stop putting it off on other people. Mahdi offers him a bowl of popcorn and Jonas boots up the game.

He’ll handle it. He’ll handle everything, and for now, he’s going to play FIFA and whine when Jonas beats him and throw popcorn at Mahdi when he makes another joke at Isak’s expense.

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 2016**

**21:28**

Linn’s laying on the couch when he unlocks the door. She’s not even watching television, just staring at the blank screen, and Isak pauses to look at her.

“You were crying this morning,” she says monotonously.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Linn doesn’t say anything for a bit. She doesn’t even really blink, like she’s sleeping with her eyes open. Isak is a little weirded out by her. Not even just now, but in general.

“Okay,” she says. 

Isak doesn’t fucking know what to make of Linn. They’ve lived together for a few months now, but sometimes, he doesn’t even remember that she’s in the damn apartment, just a lump under a duvet locked in her room, and then occasionally he’s run into her in a common space like the bathroom or the kitchen and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do, because Linn isn’t, like, a person in his head. She’s just a  _ presence  _ floating around within the walls of the apartment.

“Okay,” he answers, shuffling his backpack over on his shoulder and moving back to the hallway to his room. 

“If you want to cry at like five in the morning tonight you know where to find me,” Linn says to his back. He doesn’t know if she’s fucking joking or not at this point and he doesn’t know how to ask, so he just keeps walking. 

He doesn’t turn around. “Thanks, Linn.”

His room is starting to feel stale and heavy, a little too lived in and a little too messy. There’s a part of him that wants to clean it. He probably should, like, open a window or something and air the bitch out, but, also, that’s going to take so much effort. So he flops down into his bed, letting out a heavy exhale. He imagines all the air that comes out of his mouth adding to the weight of his room. Like a blanket. He fucking loves his blanket, and he shuffles under it and breathes again, because his mind is too busy and his limbs feel kind of weak and his body is fucking tired, everything in him is fucking tired and he wants to sleep. He needs to sleep. Not even sleep, really, because that invites dreaming into the equation, and he can’t deal with another layer of reality. He can barely handle this one. He just wants to pass out. Like, if he could induce a coma right now, he would. 

But that’s not an option, so instead, he just lays there and lets his brain think him into a fucking pit, going over and over the same fucking bullshit he was up all last night going over, because he’s a mess of a human being and he’s living in his own personal hell and it’s fine.

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 2016**

**10:19**

Isak’s falling asleep at his desk when Magnus shoves the end of his pencil into Isak’s side. 

“The fuck,” he says grouchily, pulling his head up from his arms.

“Listen,” Magnus says, urgent and dramatic beside him, “I need to fucking go out tonight.”

Isak sighs. “Mags, we went out, like, every weekend the past few weeks. I’m fucking exhausted.”

They’re whispering back and forth in the classroom. “Yeah, but,” Magnus hisses, “I need alcohol. And I need help getting it, because not all of us have older roommates.”

“Fine,” Isak says back saltily, “but you owe me one.”

Magnus jerks excitedly in his seat, banging his knee on the table, and Isak rolls his eyes without meaning to. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says. 

“I’m serious.” Isak fixes Magnus with one of his best glares, sharp and eyelids narrowed, to let him know just  _ how _ fucking serious he is.

“Yeah, yeah,” Magnus says, nodding. “I got you, bro. Just find me a place for tonight.”

It’s only after class is over that Isak realizes what he’s gotten himself into. Not only does he feel like a literal dead hunk of tuna, but now he’s promised Magnus to get them a place tonight and the only party he knows of is from the message Emma sent him the other day. And he does not want to get into it with Emma. He’ll do it, like, if he has to, but if he doesn’t have to, then there’s no fucking way he’s starting something with her.

There’s only one thing left to do. He sighs, deeper than he meant to, and pulls up his messages on his phone.

**Isak:** _ (10:47)  _ hey do you know of anything going on tonight

**Sara:** _ (10:49)  _ That first year Emma Larzen is hosting

**Isak:** _ (10:56)  _ Is there anything else

**Sara:** _ (10:58)  _ Not that I know of

Sorry

**Isak:** _ (11:01)  _ great thanks

It’s going to be fucking Emma. Actually, if he thinks about it, he could make it work. Emma could be good for him. Someone to hook up with at parties to avoid the questions and the rumours, someone to keep the boys off his ass while he deals with, well, everything else. Yeah. He doesn’t like it, but, like, he doesn’t really have to. It’ll probably work.

**Isak:** _ (11:04)  _ Hi Emma, sorry I didn’t see this before now. Looking forward to tonight

Good. Using her name to make it personal. Quick apology. Not necessarily leading her on, but letting her know that he’s going to be there and making her think that he’s going to like it. He hates that he’s so good at this shit.

**Isak:** _ (11:06)  _ Got a place

**Magnus:** _ (11:07)  _ YES PULL THROUGH

**Jonas:** _ (11:08)  _ Pregame?

**Mahdi:** _ (11:10)  _ Parents aren’t home

19?

**Magnus:** _ (11:11)  _ chill

**Jonas:** _ (11:11)  _ Chill

**Isak:** _ (11:14)  _ Yeah

And that’s his Friday night right there. Honestly, if he had stayed in, he probably would have just played video games and skipped dinner and cried himself to sleep, so it’s good that he’s going out. Now he can just get angry drunk and make out with Emma and push her off before she realizes that he can’t get it up. So that’s fine. It’ll all work out in the end.

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 2016**

**19:08**

It probably won’t be as bad as he thinks. Emma’s messaged him with way too many exclamation marks and told him the party starts at eighteen and they’ll be fashionably late like always. And they’ll show up tipsy with Magnus bouncing around like always. And Jonas will find some weed and they’ll all clap Isak on the shoulder when he hooks up with Emma and it’ll be just like it always is and Isak’s so fucking tired, yeah, but it won’t be as bad as he thinks.

“Nah, I just really needed to get out the house,” Magnus is saying, shaking his head as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“What’s up?” Jonas asks. Isak takes a sip of beer and rolls it back against his tongue.

“Family shit,” Mags says. “I fucking love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I just need a break. And she gets that, because she’s awesome, so.”

“Family shit gets you every time,” Mahdi says with a couple nods thrown in. 

“Oh, you too?” Magnus sounds almost excited and Mahdi raises an eyebrow.

“My mom’s just stressed,” he says. “But she always is.”

“Yeah,” Magnus shrugs, “I get that.” He turns to Jonas and Isak and says, happily, “Wanna share? We’re having emo hours!” 

Isak stays silent. 

“We’re literally not even high yet, and you’re getting emo? Fuck that,” Jonas says with a snort. 

“Good point,” Mahdi says. And the conversation moves on.

Isak lets the boys chatter around him, words floating past, and he feels like he could reach out and grab them if he  _ wanted _ to, but he really doesn’t. So he sits back and drinks, looking down into the can like maybe he could fucking drown in it, and occasionally hears Magnus’s laugh pierce through his fog.

Jonas cuffs the back of his head. “You got that address, man?”

“Uh, yeah,” Isak says before he coughs. “Yeah, I got it.” He stands up and it’s a struggle, feels like he’s falling back into his body and he lands hard, jolting his bones and he blinks.

“Are you on something?” Jonas asks, eyebrows twitching together. 

“What?”

“You’re really fucking out of it, man.” 

Looking at Jonas’s face, Isak can’t tell if Jonas is about to yell at him or ask him for a pill. “No,” he says. “I’m just, like, tired. Sorry.”

Something in Jonas changes, softening to Isak, and he shakes his head, saying, “Don’t apologize, man. Just have a good time tonight.” 

“Yo, we’re leaving,” Magnus yells from the door.

Jonas shoots him one last look and he nods back, and they leave with that weight between them.

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 2016**

**20:24**

Emma’s house is nice, he supposes. It still feels weird, like he’s not supposed to be there, and there’s a very solid part of him that’s just yelling for him to leave right then. He doesn’t listen.

**Isak:** _ (20:24)  _ We’re here

“I’m gonna fuck a girl tonight,” Magnus sings, spinning around on Emma’s front lawn. 

Jonas laughs and twists his hand in Magnus’s direction. “You look like a fucking garden gnome!”

“Man, fuck you!”

“You wish,” Jonas says, turning his back to Magnus as he walks up to the front door.

“Nasty,” Magnus retorts weakly. He runs to catch up to the rest of them. 

The door’s open and there’s some fucking older douches at the door looking like they’re going to try to stop them from coming in or something, but then Isak hears Emma’s shrill voice piercing into his brain. 

“Isak!” she screams, long and drawn out, and her hands are cold when they grab at Isak’s bare arms. “Come in, come in.”

He smiles nervously. Emma’s, like - fuck, she’s nice and all, but there’s something about her energy that just feels like nails on a goddamn chalkboard to him. Bad vibes. But the boys are whooping behind him and those guys at the door are backing off and Emma’s smiling bright enough that he thinks it could maybe, just  _ maybe _ , block out all the memories of Even that hit heavy behind his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says stiffly, and steps over the threshold of the house. 

Isak kind of expects the roof to fall down around them, or something to catch on fire, just because the entire night feels fucking weird and like disaster is imminent. Nothing happens. It’s just Emma’s nails in his arm and Magnus’s back disappearing into the crowd. 

“You want to go grab a drink?” Emma shouts into his ear, and yeah, yeah he fucking does, and he nods back at her.

Emma tightens her grip on his arm, which he didn’t even think was possible, and almost drags him into her kitchen. There’s considerably less people in here. Isak takes a deep breath and tries to settle himself into the situation, tries to be present and smile at Emma. She presses a drink into his hand and stands way too close. 

“I’m glad you came tonight,” she says. She doesn’t have to yell like she did earlier, but she’s definitely not fucking quiet, teetering around in a way that he’s sure she thinks is cute. It’s not, but he indulges her with a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing the words through his teeth, “should be fun.”

“Wanna dance?” she asks, but she doesn’t give him a chance to answer, her hands all over him and she’s pulling him out of the last place he feels like he can breathe and into a mass of bodies. She moves against him in time to the music and he feels nothing but discomfort. Emma’s fluttering her eyelashes. She starts to pull herself up to Isak’s lips and he knows what’s about to happen before it does, and it’s kind of disgusting, but he tells himself to push through it and it’ll be okay.

He closes his eyes when she kisses him. Her fingertips press too hard into the back of his neck, and her tongue is too small and rough in his mouth, and her body is hanging off of him in a way that he’s aware of in all the wrong ways. The whole thing is terribly fucking wrong. 

Isak’s eyes open of their own accord. He can’t really help it, can he? When Emma’s hands are cold and her mouth is hot and it’s not doing anything for him at all, and he feels like he’s above his body watching himself get tongued in a crowded house, so, yeah, he opens his eyes to try and feel like himself. Except that’s a stupid fucking idea, because he must have forgotten how much it hurts to feel like himself, because when he opens his eyes, Even is right there. 

It’s Even in the center of his vision, Even who meets his eyes and hold them, Even with his lips on his girlfriend and his hand on her back. The two of them move together like they  _ belong _ , and that’s the part that hurts the most. Isak knows that he could never have something like that, and it’s fucking painful that he ever thought he could have that with Even, that kind of connection, the heat and drama and sheer passion in the fucking way he kisses her. And it hurts when he knows that Emma’s not making him feel even a fraction of the way Even makes him feel without even touching him, across the goddamn room kissing someone else with eyes that shouldn’t be so blue from so far away but they are, and Isak can’t take his eyes off of Even and he’s so fucking angry at him. He can’t fucking take it. Being back in his body means all the feelings he tries to push down surging against him and against each other in what ends up being a hurricane, so he lets his eyes flutter shut and pushes his lips against Emma and spaces the fuck out for a while. 

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 2016**

**23:47**

Isak is angry. Not, like, angry enough to go confront Even or anything major, but angry like he’s been putting it off for too long and drinking too much and kissing Emma for too long and it’s not fucking okay and it’s boiling inside of him, simmering, and he’s going to fucking explode if he doesn’t get out of that goddamn motherfucking house right then. 

“Yo,” he says to Jonas, after he’s finally detached himself from Emma, “you ready to go?”

Jonas kind of looks surprised, stubbing out a joint and pulling himself to his feet. “Yeah. Mahdi and Mags?”

“Nah, I don’t fucking care,” Isak says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and shaking his head. 

“Is,” Jonas says firmly. He’s looking at him judgmentally and it’s annoying with how fucking pissed off he already is. “We have to find them before we leave.”

He just wants to  _ get out _ , wants to go back to Jonas’s place and crash, doesn’t want to deal with Magnus’s energy and Mahdi’s snappy comebacks and he’s so exhausted in every aspect and he hates Even and Emma and himself and he’s drunk and now he has to go look for his stupid fucking friends in this stupid fucking party? He’s not about it. 

“Fine,” he snaps. 

Finding Magnus is easy. He just follows the sound of his voice to some corner where he’s trying to convince a few very high girls to play spin the bottle with him. 

“It’ll be totally awesome,” he’s saying to one girl in particular.

Isak sighs. “Magnus. Leaving.”

Magnus shoots him a look that’s practically the embodiment of  _ bro, please, do me a solid,  _ but honestly, Isak wouldn’t even be at this shitfest of a party if it wasn’t for doing Magnus a favor, so he’s not about to do him another one, thanks.

“Now.”

He starts walking away before Magnus agrees, but he hears him stand up and start apologizing to girls that don’t give a fuck about him.

“Where’s Mahdi?” Isak asks.

“Thought he was with Jonas,” Magnus answers unhelpfully, snagging a half-eaten bag of pretzels off of some passed out kid’s chest. He shoves a couple in his mouth and offers the bag to Isak. “He can’t be that hard to find,” Magnus says, “he’s, like, one of three black kids in this entire school.”

Isak tunes him out at that point. They check the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, another bathroom, and Magnus is trying to convince Isak to start busting down bedroom doors when Jonas grabs Isak’s arm with his left hand, Mahdi’s arm in his right.

“We’re all here,” Jonas says calmly, and Isak nods shortly.

“Great,” he says, hitting the end of the stairs and opening the front door.

“Yo, where’s the fire?” Mahdi jokes. 

Isak spins around on Emma’s front porch just in time to catch Jonas shaking his head and wincing at Mahdi.

“I’m fucking tired and done with this bullshit and I’m going the fuck home,” Isak says, and it’s harsher than he intended, but he can’t very well take it back now, can he?

Magnus looks a little shocked. “The fuck’s your problem?” he asks.

“Let him lash out, he’s tired or some shit,” Mahdi says, waving his hand and grinning, and fuck him, too, because he’s not lashing out, and yeah, he’s tired and there’s a fuckton of shit going on that Mahdi knows jackshit about, so fuck him and fuck his stupid bright ass smile and Isak finds himself stepping towards Mahdi aggressively.

Jonas blocks him. “What the hell’s going on with you, man?” he asks, hand on Isak’s chest. “Look at me - Isak, hey. Look at me.”

Isak is breathing heavily. He looks at Jonas, pushing him back from Mahdi, and it all hits him. What the fuck is he fucking doing? He wasn’t ever going to hit Mahdi, and he doesn’t know how the fuck he got to this point, on the front porch of the house of a girl he spent the whole night making out with, fucked up over some hot straight third year guy, drunk on shitty beer and angry at the entire world. It’s so fucked up and he’s a literal human disaster. 

“Fuck,” he says out loud, and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the world of angst pls join me in my suffering


	4. four.

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 2016**

**12:03**

His phone ringing wakes him up. And he slept surprisingly well considering that he fell asleep angry and drunk and he can feel where he was grinding his teeth all night, but he rolls over and his body is sore and tense even though that was the longest he’s slept in ages and he hates it. He hates that he never feels rested. He hates that going to sleep every night feels like a battle and that waking up every morning feels doubly so. He hates that he has nightmares he doesn’t remember and wakes up just as stressed as he always was and he hates that nothing is better and he hates that Jonas is calling him right now as he fishes his half-charged phone from the pocket of last night’s pants and he hates himself.

“Hey.”

And Jonas is gentle on the other end, just his breath for a few seconds, and then he says, “Hey.” 

Isak coughs. “What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in on you,” Jonas says cautiously. Isak can hear him rustling around and he imagines that Jonas is still in bed, can picture him running a hand over his hair and pulling the blanket over his shoulder as he nestles further down into the pillow on his side of the bed. “Shit was a little weird last night, man.”

Isak feels his defenses rise and he hates that he can’t stop himself from shooting back, “Fuck does that mean?”

Silence from the other end. More rustling. “Just saying, you’re not usually the type to go after someone like that unless something’s up.”

It’s an opportunity for him to actually  _ talk  _ to Jonas, to tell him that yeah, something’s up, that he can’t sleep and he feels like his skin is suffocating him and he sees this fucking boy everywhere he goes, every time he closes his eyes, and every time he looks at himself in the mirror he can feel Even’s hands across his body and he hates it. This moment, right here, is time that he could take to tell Jonas that his mamma’s still texting him bible verses that burrow deep into his heart like arrows shot of a bow. Tell him that his pappa still doesn’t give a shit and he can’t be the go-between for his parents and he doesn’t ever want to see his father again because the thought alone makes him sick and he doesn’t know why. He’s gay and he hates everything that keeps him alive and he feels like he’s spiralling out of control.

He tells Jonas nothing.

“I’m fucking stressed, man, I’m sorry,” Isak says. His voice feels completely detached from his mind, like he’s thinking something entirely different than what’s coming out of his mouth.

Jonas sighs. “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Mahdi. We’re just worried about you.”

“Yeah.”

And that’s the thing, really. He doesn’t want Jonas to have to worry about him. It’s not Jonas’s job. Jonas isn’t his fucking mom and Jonas isn’t his fucking boyfriend and Jonas is his best friend but he’s been saying that for so long that he hardly knows what it means anymore, just that when Jonas calls him he answers and he lays his head in Jonas’s lap when he’s crossfaded and he used to love Jonas more than he should have but now he’s not too sure. 

“I’m here,” Jonas says eventually. “If you need anything, you know.”

Isak nods before he realises that Jonas can’t see him and then he says, as simply as he can, “Thanks.”

If he says any more he’ll probably cry.

“Okay. Bye, I guess,” Jonas tells him. He sounds as helpless as he did when Isak was eleven and broke his arm and Jonas was trying to decide if he should stay and dry Isak’s tears or run and get his mother. 

“Bye.”

Jonas hangs up and Isak stays still with his phone still pressed to his ear. He vaguely recalls a post he read once about how the bacteria on a phone can cause acne when it’s against skin but he can’t quite bring himself to give a shit.

He doesn’t know how long he lays like that. He might drift in and out of sleep for a bit but he’s unsure, drowsy and confused when Eskild’s voice causes him to sit up out of bed.

“Baby boy,” Eskild yells from the other side of the door. “You better be up, because I need you to clean the bathroom.”

Fuck.

“I’m up,” he lies, hoping that Eskild doesn’t open in the door.

Eskild, of course, opens the door.

“No the  _ fuck  _ you’re not,” he says, sniffing dramatically at the sight of Isak still in bed. “I love you, but you need to get it together. Men are shit and you can trust none of them, so I’m going to give you a sponge and you’re going to clean the shower because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that you’ve masturbated in there.”

Isak groans and rolls over. “Why are you like this,” he complains, but the truth is that Eskild’s abrasive voice is the only thing that get him out of bed most mornings and he’s incredibly grateful for it.

“Up, up,” Eskild sings, clapping his hands together.

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 2016**

**15:18**

Cleaning is death and Isak is dying. They’ll probably find his body here on the shower floor, shriveled with the moisture from the weird foamy spray shit Eskild made him use, and then he’ll have to have a closed casket funeral because he’ll look like a motherfucking raisin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Once the bathroom is close enough to Eskild’s unattainable standards (“It must smell like  _ lavender _ , Isak, lavender!”), he stumbles out with a sponge still in his hands. 

Linn and Eskild are on the couch, cuddled together and watching an animated movie.

“Why doesn’t Linn ever have to clean?” Isak asks. It’s another one of those times where he’s completely aware that he’s being a brat but he’s just too tired and too done with cleaning to really care about filtering himself.

Eskild shoots him a dirty look and wraps his arm around Linn.

“Linn,” he says pointedly, “pays her rent on time.”

And Linn doesn’t even glance away from the singing sunflower on the screen, but Isak rolls his eyes anyways, face burning because Eskild gives him shit for not paying but his dad isn’t the person he wants to ask for money and his mom isn’t capable of caring for herself, much less him, both reasons why he’s here in the first place, and yeah, Eskild’s created this little safe haven for gay kids whose parents are shit, but Isak’s parents are shit  _ and  _ he’s shit. He’s not responsible like Noora, who, when she lived here, would budget her money perfectly. He doesn’t have people to keep track for him like Linn, who struggles out of her room to answer the soft-spoken calls from her aunt. Isak can’t fucking do it.

“I’m trying, Eskild,” he says. It’s meant to come out snappy and harsh, meant to make Eskild recoil, but instead, it just sounds broken. Hollow and a little shattered around the edges. His voice wobbles and he clenches the sponge in his fist because god  _ fucking  _ damn it, this is on some weak shit and he’s not about to cry in the middle of their living room. He is.

Eskild’s beside him before he has time to blink the tears out of his eyes, a hand on his bicep and a gentle breath on his ear.

Isak screws his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the pity in Eskild’s face.

“Get off of me,” he mutters, voice thick and tight with tears. 

Eskild is Eskild, though, and he wouldn’t be Eskild if he didn’t ignore what Isak’s saying in order to give him what he needs, which, to be completely honest, is a hug. Eskild wraps two arms around him and tucks his nose into Isak’s neck while Isak bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood, but no tears fall onto Eskild’s shoulder and it’s okay.

He sighs, shaky, and Eskild mumbles, “Love you, baby.” Eskild lets him go with a hand running over his cheek for one final touch and gentle smile when Isak lets himself twitch the corners of his mouth up.

“You wanna watch this with us?” Linn offers from the couch. Isak shakes his head.

“Nah, thanks, though,” he says. “I’ve got some homework to do.”

He heads back to his room. The homework thing wasn’t a lie, necessarily, but he has no intention of studying, unless studying Sonja’s profile pictures and emotional suppression techniques counts.

Part of him wants to blame all of his shit on Even, for fucking him and showing up at his school and lying to him, but he knows that’s not everything. And part of him wants to blame all his shit on his parents, on his mom for being fucking crazy and not doing anything to get better, on his dad for leaving them both without a second thought and never really being a  _ father _ in the way that Isak needed, but that’s not everything either.

His shit is his problem. He’s old enough to take responsibility for that, and he’s old enough to stop pushing the blame onto everyone else. He can’t let Eskild support him every time he fucking breaks down over some dumb shit that he shouldn’t even fucking be upset over. He steels himself, a deep breath and his eyes drifting closed before they snap back open, and he promises that he won’t be weak again. He’ll handle it.

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2016**

**02:50**

If he had to pick a superpower, Isak thinks that he’d choose the ability to alter himself down to the core makeup of his cells or some shit, become something inhuman and unliving. It’d be pretty cool to be a mercury molecule. 

He rolls over and checks the time. This is what he’s thinking about at three in the morning - becoming mercury. At least it’s not a school day, because at this rate, there’s no fucking way he’s waking up before noon. 

Isak lets out a breath, dragging his hand through his hair roughly enough that it catches and pulls and brings some feeling back into his body. It’s a weird feeling, honestly. Like he’s not entirely present and if he had to explain it to someone, he thinks it most resembles being underwater, like he’s floating with his arms out and his eyes open and there’s nobody in front of him, just a vast expanse of space and he feels like he’s balancing in limbo between floating and sinking. 

Not to be emo or anything.

He fights back the urge to get out of bed and pace and in doing so, he resigns himself to his fate of watching the ceiling until his body takes over and he sleeps.

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2016**

**13:14**

**Jonas:** _ (13:14)  _ What are you doing rn

**Isak:** _ (13:15)  _ Eating breakfast?

**Jonas:** _ (13:15)  _ Dude wtf it’s afternoon

**Isak:** _ (13:16)  _ Let me LIVE

**Jonas:** _ (13:17)  _ Fine

Come over

**Isak:** _ (13:17) _ ……why

**Jonas:** _ (13:18)  _ I have something to show you

Isak goes. Of course he does, because it’s Jonas, and he would fucking die for Jonas. He throws on a pair of jeans that he peels off of the floor and jams his arm into his jacket and leaves.

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2016**

**13:58**

He gets to Jonas’s house and the door is unlocked for him like it always is, but he still knocks before he goes in. He raised himself to be polite, thank you very much. 

“Isak,” Jonas’s mom says warmly when she answers the door, “you know you can just come in, right?”

It’s their routine. Isak likes routine. He smiles and ducks his head in a gentle apology even though they both know by now that nothing will change, that he’ll keep his knuckles against the door like a barrier between being a friend and being family because no matter how close he is to Jonas, how close he is to Jonas’s mom and sister, he needs to keep that distance. He can’t fuck up another family.

Jonas’s room is down the hall a little bit and Isak pays attention to how his socked feet sound against the floor after he takes off his shoes at the door. Gentle thuds from his soles.

“Hey,” he says quizzically as Jonas’s door swings open. 

“Alright, look at this,” Jonas answers immediately. He spins on his heel and bends, picking up a shoe box that’s a little worn around the edges. It’s old, because it’s Nike and Jonas hasn’t been into Nike for quite a long time. Adidas and Vans for the skater boy. A part of Isak hates himself for knowing that, like some dumb fuck with a crush still, but that part of Isak hates whatever he does. He’s learned to ignore it. Or, well, less ignore it and more just live with it, live with the way his brain whispers to him about how little he’s worth, as it’s doing now. He tunes out the words and listens to the rhythms.

“Check it,” Jonas says. His mouth twists into a bright smile, thin like the sun in the winter, and he tilts his head into the box.

Isak peeks in.

It’s stacked with pictures, actual, printed pictures, on paper like it was when they were little. Jonas steps back so Isak can move closer. The first photo, facing him, on the top of the pile like Jonas specifically placed it there, is a photo of them. They’re probably about seven. The two of them are standing at the top of a slide on a playground, the one across from Jonas’s house where Isak broke his arm and they smoked weed for the first time and Jonas got his first kiss. But before all that, they stood at the top of the slide with their arms around each other. Curly black hair tangles with curly blonde hair as they tilt towards each other, one of Jonas’s hands pulling at his own mouth to make a face. The Isak in the photo is laughing hard enough that he’s starting to curl over, free arm moving towards his stomach.

They look like sun and moon.

“Cute, yeah?”

Isak had almost forgotten Jonas was there. He glances back over his shoulder and shoots Jonas a grin, trying not to make it sad. He doesn’t remember the photo but he misses it. He misses the familiar weight of Jonas’s arm over his shoulder and he misses falling in love with sunlight and he misses himself most of all. 

It’s weird to see photos of he and Jonas from their childhood, because God knows his parents never took any. It’s weird to look at this box and think that it holds the only evidence of a certain Isak that used to exist and if this box is lost, then so is Isak. At least, the Isak who was seven and loved trees and had freckles beneath green eyes would be lost, and however many other Isaks exist in this Nike box with beat up corners.

He’s not sure what to say.  _ Thank you? I’m sorry? I think you saved my life when we were fourteen and every day after that and I can’t believe I never thought about it before? Do you have any water? I’m crying tonight, do you want to join me?  _ Nothing seems right, so Isak just smiles. Jonas smiles back.

For half of a second, he can feel it -- sun and moon. He and Jonas, the same way they’ve always been. But it’s fleeting and it’s gone before he can think to open his mouth and taste it.

“Very cute,” he says.

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 2016**

**09:12**

It’s not like he has trouble with apologies; it’s more like he has trouble actually acknowledging feelings. And he wants to give the boys a reason for the way he reacted because they deserve one, but he’s only equipped with more lies. He hates this, every second of it, every miniscule measurement of time that he’s inside his body and inside his brain and so now he’s standing, watching the boys at their usual table, and he feels something inside of him trying to escape. 

The boys always joke that Isak looks soft but when faced with fight or flight, he’ll fight. Isak never has the heart to correct them. He’ll smile and duck his head and let Jonas regale them with tales of the Yakuza fight and he won’t say anything about how he fled from his mom, from his dad, from the life he had, and how he still feels like he’s constantly on the run. He says nothing. And he wants to choose flight now but he forces himself to fight against his mind and step closer to the table.

Mahdi and Magnus quiet when they see him, looking towards Jonas, who catches Isak’s eye with a nod.

“Hi,” Isak says shakily. 

Magnus shifts his sight to Mahdi nervously. Mahdi waits. Isak sniffs and wipes at his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, searching through his mind to find something to say and he can’t quite grasp what he wants because he’s so fucking tired of lying.

He’s so fucking tired.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Mahdi. “There’s shit going on and it has nothing to do with you and I shouldn’t have reacted like that and I’m sorry.”

Mahdi looks at him with pity and it makes anger boil in Isak’s gut, but he calms himself, breathing hard through his nose. “It’s fine, man,” he says.

“But what’s up?” Magnus interjects, leaning forward with his brows furrowed. “Like, you know you can talk to us about anything.”

For a brief moment, he considers it. He imagines just sitting down and telling them about Even, telling them about his mom, telling them about how it feels like he’s always running to catch up to something that he can never reach and he doesn’t even know what it is, but just knows that he’ll die without it. He lets himself revel in the idea and then he shrugs.

“Family shit,” he answers. It’s the classic excuse and yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s not everything. He sits down at the table.

Jonas knocks their knees together. “I’ll fight your dad one day,” he says, halfway joking and the other half dead serious, flashing behind his eyes. Sun and moon and Jonas is the sun now, bright and solid and Isak can’t look at him for too long, so he glances down. 

He huffs out a laugh and it just sounds like a sigh and the boys are silent because none of them are good at this. It’s fine, though.

He picks at some bread.

**TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 2016**

**14:14**

Sana taps on his arm with the point of her pen and he’s about to get mad at her until he realises that their teacher is looking at him expectantly.

“Uh.” He really has no idea what unit they’re even on. 

“Transport proteins,” Sana hisses into his ear, raising her sleeve to cover her mouth. When he gets his shit together, he’s really got to thank that girl.

“It’s, uh, transport proteins.”

When the teacher turns away he escapes to the bathroom.

Isak lets his head rest against the wall and he realises that he always seems to end up in bathrooms, that water on his wrists isn’t quite as healing as it feels but he’ll do it anyways, that when the door opens he’s expecting Jonas again.

It’s not Jonas.

Even has ink on his hands and he goes to the sink to wash it off, eyes on Isak in the mirror as he crosses across the floor. Isak can’t breathe. He can’t breathe because the weight of Even’s gaze is on his lungs and where it used to feel good it just feels oppressive, like everything that went wrong is in that room with them.

“Can we talk?” Even says quietly.

Isak’s ears are flooded with the sound of the ocean and he shakes the water off of his hands, no longer feeling.

“I have to get back to class,” he blurts out, stumbling out of the bathroom.

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2016**

**08:01**

He can’t go to school today.

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2016**

**13:47**

He sleeps instead.

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2016**

**15:19**

Magnus whoops when Isak walks into Jonas’s house, the rest of the boys already rolling joints on Jonas’s bedroom floor. 

“Hipster weed, Isak!” Magnus says excitedly. Isak can’t help but roll his eyes. He really does love this boys, loves them each for what makes them different and what makes them the same and he’s so fucking bitter that he can’t get himself together enough to let them know how much they mean to him.

His phone vibrates and he puts it on do not disturb, not even looking at the text he knows is from his mother. It’s like he has a sixth sense for it, or, actually, he thinks bitterly, like God himself is letting Isak know. He’s not fucking dealing with that tonight.

“Rolled you one,” Jonas says, handing Isak a joint. He exhales in relief at the familiar weight of it between his fingers.

“Thanks.”

Mahdi tosses him a lighter and it’s good, it’s all good, getting better each time he inhales. He lets the smoke fill his lungs gratefully. He should really, like, not rely on weed this much, but it’s whatever. 

They smoke with NWA pumping low in the background for a while, not speaking. Isak finds himself nodding his head absently. The four of them just breathe, rolling joints and passing the lighter, and Isak can finally start to relax. 

Jonas nudges Isak’s thigh with his toe. “All good?” he asks.

Isak shrugs.

“How are things with that guy?” Jonas says, low and casual. Isak freezes.

He glances over at Magnus, who’s trying to blow smoke rings, and Mahdi, who’s laughing as he watches, and it doesn’t look like they’re listening but he doesn’t fucking know. He rubs at his nose.

“Isak?” Jonas prompts. 

“They’re not.”

Jonas furrows his brows. “What?”

“They’re just… not things anymore,” he explains as shortly as he can, Jonas still looking confused and Magnus still with his head tilted back and he still can’t do this but he’s so tired of keeping everything inside. It’s exhausting. For a split second, he imagines talking to the boys about Even. He’s queasy just considering it.

“What’s up?” Mahdi asks, looking between the two of them, bored with Magnus’s antics.

“Nothing,” Isak says before Jonas can open his mouth. “Plans for tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” Mahdi nods, lighting up with a grin. “That Even guy invited me to a party if you guys want to tag along. He’s cool.”

Isak can’t breathe. He clutches at his own shirt, wrinkling the fabric, and focuses on bringing air into his lungs. It’s a struggle.

Jonas coughs as Isak heaves. 

“You good?” Magnus asks. He seems amused and Isak wants to kick him in the teeth but he can’t even fucking  _ breathe _ . 

“Fine,” Jonas gets out. Isak nods along.

God  _ damn  _ it. He hates that this thing with Even is affecting him so much. He hates that it makes him feel so unwanted. He hates that when he’s done smoking and has started to sober up, he’ll regret even thinking about talking to the boys. And then he’ll go home and sit his room and try not to open that damn message from his mom, because it’ll just fuck him up and he can’t handle that right now.

He can’t handle much of anything right now.

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2016**

**19:53**

Isak’s in his bed with his toes tucked under a pile of dirty clothes. He keeps drifting in and out of sleep, letting his head float, feeling like he’s in a constant state of dreaming. Or something.

He ends up on his phone at one point, and there’s no notifications because he’s turned them all off. He scrolls through Instagram with his eyes half closed. Eva’s posted herself kissing Vilde at some party, which seems a lot gayer than Eva claims. He gets it, though. And Linn’s watching Black Mirror on her laptop down the hall. He stops to look at Jonas’s post. They must be pregaming, Magnus posing with Mahdi’s cat in some continuation of their joke. There’s a case of beer in the corner, right beside someone’s shoe -- Isak blinks. He knows those shoes. He kind of hates that he knows them from the corner of an Instagram picture, but he can’t erase that night from his mind and the fucking shoes are a part of it, from when he looked down and saw them toe to toe with his own right before they kissed and when he almost tripped over them trying to leave his house after they fucked and his friends are hanging out with Even.

His friends are hanging out with Even.

His friends are friends with Even? 

This goes on the list of things he can’t handle, right between the unopened messages from his parents and the fact that his room is a mess. He can’t handle his friends being friends with Even and he -- fuck, what if someone brings up his name? Fuck. If Even fucking outs him, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He’s close to tears just thinking about it, his eyes burning and he’s biting the inside of his cheek, hard. Jesus fucking Christ.

There’s no way that this is going to end well, and Isak’s going to get his life fucked over again. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh im sorry this is short but it literally took all my energy so rip


	5. five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's going to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in the end notes

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2016**

**10:01**

“Isak.”

“Fuck off.”

“ _ Isak. _ ”

“Eskild. Let me sleep.”

There’s a sigh from the general vicinity of his bedroom door.

“Jonas is here,” Eskild explains.

Isak raises his head from the pile of blankets he’s buried himself under and says, with all the eloquence of his sleepy self, “Why the  _ fuck _ ?”

Eskild shrugs and vanishes in a swirl of silk robe. Isak can hear him talking to Jonas, offering him coffee, and, really, what the fuck is he doing here? Isak’s thrown off because this is  _ not _ his routine. Jonas really shouldn’t be here, especially not in the morning, and Isak swings his legs out of bed to throw on some sweatpants and a shirt.

“Hey,” Jonas greets him from his seat at the kitchen table, sipping out of a Star Wars mug.

Isak narrows his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Wow,” Jonas says, raising his eyebrows, “good morning to you too.”

Isak pours a mug and sips it black, closing his eyes and letting the heat travel down into his chest.

“Look,” Jonas starts. He sounds apprehensive and Isak feels his heart start thudding in his ears, a hundred times amplified. “We hung out with Even last night, me and the boys, and I wanted to tell you because I felt weird about it and I don’t really know what happened between you guys, so, yeah.”

Isak shifts. He doesn’t really know what to say, thrown off by Jonas in his kitchen when he’s not supposed to be and thrown off by the words coming out of his mouth. 

“And I wanted to come check on you,” Jonas adds. He glances down at his hands around the mug. “You’ve been really fucking out of it and I’m still not convinced you’re not doing hard drugs.”

That Isak can deal with. He can’t deal with any of the shit that’s going on with Even or his parents or school, but he can deal with Jonas thinking he’s a heroin addict.

“Search my room if you want,” he says, shrugging, pushing everything else to the side so he can offer Jonas a little smile.

And that does the trick, Jonas’s face lighting up. He gives Isak a smile back.

“Just stay safe whatever you’re doing, yeah?” Jonas says. Isak nods back at him, both of them sipping from their mugs, little smiles cresting over the rim as they look at each other.

“Wanna play FIFA?”

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2016**

**15:24**

They’re walking back from the skatepark when it happens.

Isak’s not even paying attention, dicking around with Jonas’s skateboard, tossing it back and forth between his hands while Jonas tells him to  _ please _ be careful with it. And Isak’s making fun of him, stumbling around with the most energy he’s felt in days, when he slams into someone’s shoulder.

“Shit, sorry,” he says immediately.

“You’re fine,” a voice answers, deep and amused, and then says, “Hey, Jonas.”

Jonas shoots a nod at the person and Isak turns to see who it is, because he doesn’t recognize the voice, and -- oh, fuck.

“What’s up, Julian?” Jonas says with a grin, knocking his knuckles against the guy’s, except Isak has no idea who Julian is or how Jonas knows him. All he knows is that he’s seen this guy before. He’s seen him before, a month ago, when the lights flickered across Julian’s face and Isak leaned over his shoulder to order a beer right before he met Even.

Julian, whoever the fuck he is, was in that bar the night Isak met Even. 

Fuck.

See, the thing is that Isak’s been barely holding his shit together through the policy of containment. There are only a few people in the word that  _ know  _ things about him, the kind of things that he hides beneath his covers and the password on his phone, about his mom and his dad and himself. Jonas knows some. Eskild knows some. Even, now, knows a little, at least the gay part. He keeps it contained. He keeps everything under control. He knows who knows and he keeps them close.

Julian knows something about Isak. Isak doesn’t know Julian. Julian could, theoretically, do whatever he wants with that information.

Fuck, Isak thinks again.

His brain is processing logically, laying out all the facts, and Isak feels his heart speed up and his breathing get harder and he knows he’s about to go into a full-blown freak out, so he starts walking with his shoes hard and heavy against the sidewalk, trusting that Jonas will follow him. 

Jonas’s footsteps catch up to him with ease. Surprising ease, actually, for someone who smokes as much as Jonas does, Isak thinks absently. 

“Isak. What the fuck is going on with you?”

He goes to open his mouth, offer an explanation, an excuse, but he suddenly can’t breathe and he feels like he’s collapsing right there on the sidewalk.

He’s drowning. 

There are black spots encroaching on his vision.

With his left hand, he reaches an arm out to Jonas, who’s right there like he always is.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Isak says, barely hearing his own voice. 

“Do what anymore?” Jonas asks, and he sounds concerned but also like he’s far away and Isak’s touching him but feeling none of it.

“It’s too much,” he says desperately. There’s no way to make Jonas understand what he’s feeling.

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2016**

**15:40**

“Isak? Oh my God, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He just freaked out coming home and I brought him here as fast as I could.”

“Isak? Isak, look at me. Isak.”

Isak blinks Eskild into view.

“I’m sorry,” he says, right before he bursts into tears.

Eskild somehow gets him to the couch and then it’s Isak having an entire breakdown right there in the living room, in front of his roommate and his best friend, sobbing too hard to speak. 

And Eskild’s holding him, two arms around his body and it feels like nothing Isak’s ever felt. There’s a hand in his hair and he can’t breathe, lungs heaving and he can’t even see through his tears but he can feel Jonas standing behind his shoulder nervously. He calms down eventually, crumpled into Eskild with his hand clutching at the cloth of Eskild’s shirt, tears still streaming down his face, but at least he remembers how to inhale and exhale now. At least he can feel his face. At least he can think.

“Isak,” Jonas says gently, “tell us.”

And Isak is just  _ too tired _ . He’s tired of holding it all heavy in his chest like a weight, tired of the way his heart throbs at the thought of getting out of bed in the morning, tired of the hiding and the avoiding and the burying and he’s exhausted. 

So he tells them.

Still crying, still with his chest heaving and his entire self a mess, he tells them, starting with his parents and ending with the way he feels like he’s drowning in his own skin most of the time, with Even in the middle, and they listen.

And then he can breathe again.

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2016**

**08:27**

Jonas stands beside him all morning. They brush their teeth over the sink, sip coffee at the kitchen table, put their shoes on by the door and walk in step to the tram. And then they’re standing in the front of the school and Isak clenches his fist, once, twice, three times, and Jonas brushes their knuckles together from his place at Isak’s side. 

“You good?” he asks quietly.

Isak nods.

They step into the school and all hell breaks loose.

“Isak!” Magnus yells, bursting out of the crowd in the hallway. “You’re famous, man.”

Isak looks at Jonas, who shrugs. “Mags, what?”

“You’re famous and gay,” Magnus answers. He holds his arms out wide and grins and Isak thinks that his heart stops right then.

Blood rushes in his ears and Jonas steps in, hands on Magnus’s arms and pushing him back, asking him questions in a low voice and Magnus answers with concern on his face. Isak can barely see. Fuck. He thought he was over this after yesterday, thought that it would be okay to go to school, thought he was  _ safe _ .

He bursts into the bathroom and sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall and pretending like he can feel it. His breathing echoes ragged against the empty walls. There are tears tracking fast down his cheeks and he thought he had cried out his entire body yesterday, but apparently, he’s got some more left in him.

Half of him wants to think logically about what happened, about the how and the why and the who, but it’s overridden by the part of him that says to crawl under the sinks and press his head against the pipes and feel how cold they are with his feet sticking out and he does, pressure against his temples and a weight inside his chest. He finds himself staring at the way his knuckles strain white at his skin. They throb when he raps them against the wall and so he bangs them, again and again, harder and harder, and he starts to snap out of his cloud due to the pain.

There are shoes squeaking against the floor and the door swinging shut and it’s Jonas, probably Jonas, except it’s not Jonas and Isak knows those shoes again.

Even crouches down to see him and wordlessly offers him a hand. 

“What the fuck?” Isak finds himself whispering, and it comes out accusing, comes out harsh and cold and he’s grateful for that last layer of protection his instinct offers him.

Even takes his hand back. “If you want,” he says gently, so gently that it pisses Isak off, “you can squeeze my hand instead of hitting the wall.”

Isak doesn’t quite know what to do. This isn’t exactly a situation he’s had experience with, after all, and he can’t make sense of how he feels about Even, because if he’s being honest, Even isn’t his biggest problem right now. His biggest problem is the fact that he just got fucking outed to the entire school and he can’t catch his breath and he can’t feel his fingers and he has bruises on his knuckles and tears on his cheeks and a beautiful fucking asshole in front of him offering him help. And he has options. He can place his hand in Even’s and allow himself to be lifted up from under the bathroom sink, and he lets himself picture it for a minute, just the two of them standing in the bathroom and it all being as secluded as it was the night Isak lost himself in Even, which,  _ fuck _ , he really should not be thinking about right now. Or maybe he should be thinking about it, because it’s letting him breathe again. It’s letting him feel the cold floor on his fingertips again. It’s letting him calm down.

“Isak?” Even prompts again, so tender that Isak almost slams his head through the pipe behind him.

“Fuck  _ off _ ,” he mutters. 

Even’s quiet for a little bit, just his breathing audible in the chamber made by all that tile. 

“You sure?” he asks Isak. His voice feels like home and Isak can’t handle it, can’t handle feeling comforted when everything’s falling to shit and can’t handle being comforted by Even of all people. 

And yeah, he’s fucking sure. So he breathes out, long and solid, mostly to prove to himself that he can, and he nods. 

Even stands and shifts his feet, still not leaving as he asks, “Can I get someone for you or something? Jonas?”

Isak hates that Even knows it’s Jonas he needs in situations like these, because that feels like something he should only know after knowing Isak for, like, ages. He hates that Even even knows who Jonas is. 

“Even,” Isak says shortly because that’s all he can manage, “just go. Please.”

He can feel Even nod, even though he can’t see him. 

And then it’s footsteps on tile and the turn of a doorknob and a split second where the door’s open and he can hear kids chattering outside and his blood runs cold and then it’s all silent again.

It’s all silent again.

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2016**

**11:06**

He drags himself back home because he can’t handle to be at school and he can’t handle the way people are looking at him and he doesn’t understand how to deal with anything, how to deal with anything  _ ever _ , so he goes home. He’ll figure out his attendance later. 

He lets himself in and listens for a bit. Eskild’s not home, he concludes, so he slips off his shoes and pads into the living room to collapse on the couch and just turn off his brain for a little bit.

Linn’s beat him to it. 

“Hey,” she says tonelessly.

He briefly considers just giving her a nod and heading back to his room, but interactions with Linn barely even take energy out of him and he craves a little bit of human connection, so he stays. 

**Jonas:** _ 6 missed calls _

“Do you want tea?”

“No,” Isak answers, leaning his head back on the cushion. Everything around him is humming and he just wants to curl up and make it stop.

Linn shrugs.

The two of them breathe in silence.

**TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2016**

**03:18**

Isak thinks he’s reached a point of just not caring anymore. Or, he hopes he’s reached that point. He doesn’t fucking know. All he knows is that he’s numb and a little drunk on shitty beer and alone in his room kicking the cans across the floor and it’s dark, too dark to see the mess he’s made.

It’s probably a low point, he thinks absently. The lowest. Drunk alone on a Monday night, Tuesday morning, whatever the fuck it is. He lets himself fall into bed. He reaches for his phone but remembers that he turned it off because he couldn’t begin to look at the messages and the missed calls and people trying to reach him, Jonas and Magnus and Mahdi and people he hasn’t talked to in ages, Eva and Sara and some guy from his old soccer team and he doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He’s completely out of control of the situation and of himself and he doesn’t know what the  _ fuck  _ to do, so he does the only logical thing. He opens another beer.

It’s warm and he doesn’t even taste it and he wishes it was something harder. 

The ceiling spins above him.

“I’m gay,” he says to himself, and the words feel foreign in his mouth. His whole body feels foreign, like it’s not his own, like he’s watching someone else drive from the backseat and he has no idea where they’re going. “I’m gay.”

He can’t go to school like this, he realises, because he’s either going to be hungover or still drunk and also because he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on since he shut off his phone. 

In the state he’s in, he lets himself imagine the worst case scenario -- Jonas and the boys turning against him, spreading rumors that he tried to sleep with all of them. Making him out to be a predator, a liar. He supposes he is a liar. He’s been hiding this huge part of himself for so long that he convinced everyone, including himself, that it wasn’t true, and now the whole thing is blown to shit. His thoughts don’t even make sense anymore.

He turns his phone back on and watches the texts roll in. Ignoring everything else, he opens the ones from Jonas.

**Jonas:** _ (08:30)  _ Are you okay?

**Jonas:** _ (08:32)  _ Dumb question you’re not okay

**Jonas:** _ (08:35)  _ Where are you? Answer me

**Jonas:** _ (08:47)  _ Damage control. How are we handling this?

**Jonas:** _ (08:48)  _ Please answer me

**Jonas:** _ (09:21)  _ Magnus just almost punched the shit out of a guy for you

**Jonas:** _ (11:14)  _ I guess you’re home rn bc you’re not in math

**Jonas:** _ (12:08)  _ Love you

**Jonas:** _ (12:08)  _ Best friends yeah?

**Jonas:** _ (17:54)  _ Just checking in. Take care of yourself and call me when you can

Isak scrolls through the messages, reading them one by one and checking the timestamps to try to piece together what was happening. Jonas was at lunch when he sent the best friends message, working on homework when he sent the checking in message, walking home from school when he called twice. 

“Fuck,” Isak whispers. He feels awful, like a burden, like a fucked-up piece of shit who ruins the lives of everyone he interacts with, like some kind of King Midas. It feels like hell. 

**Isak:** _ (03:25)  _ I’m sorry

**TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2016**

**11:29**

He turns off his phone again when a call wakes him up. It’s probably Jonas but at this point he’s not even checking, just holding down the power button until he can turn it off and pretend like it’s nothing. An expensive paperweight, maybe. He puts it under his pillow.

Two knocks on the door and it sounds like Eskild, so he rolls over and prepares himself.

“Isak,” Eskild says quietly, opening the door just a crack, “are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Isak croaks out.

Eskild enters with his socked feet silent on the floor and sits on the bed, his weight making a familiar dip in the mattress and Isak sits up, head pounding.

They breathe in the stuffy room until Eskild breaks the silence.

“Jonas told me what happened.”

And Isak -- Isak suddenly can’t breathe again and he hates that this keeps happening, so he clenches his fists hard enough that his nails dig into his palm and he can focus on the pain it causes instead of the way his entire world feels like it just flipped again.

“Isak,” Eskild says, and his voice sounds desperate, like he’s on the verge of reaching his arm out and grabbing Isak, “I’m worried. It’s okay for you to feel things, you know that, right?”

There’s something blurring Isak’s vision and when he rubs his eyes, his palms come away wet. 

“I love you,” Eskild whispers.

Isak sniffs. “Yeah.”

“And it kills me to see you hurting. Kills me, you know? I wish I could take all the pain that you’re going through and make it mine. But I can’t. And I know that and you know that and that’s how life works, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Eskild places his hand on Isak’s knee over the covers and Isak realises that there are tears tracing pathways down his face as well. 

Eskild wipes at his tears. “You’re going to be okay. Do you hear me? You’re going to be okay.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself just as much as he’s talking to Isak and so Isak nods.

For the first time, he speaks around the lump in his throat and says what he’s thinking.

“Eskild?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re probably the best person in my life right now,” Isak says with his head tilted back to keep the tears from flowing. It doesn’t work. “You and Jonas.”

Eskild moves then, shifts to sit next to Isak, wraps him up with both arms and Isak curls into him because it’s  _ Eskild _ , arms tangling and lungs breathing together and this, this man he’s holding and the man who’s holding him, this is what’s keeping him alive right now. Isak tells him that.

“You’re the reason I’m still here,” he says quietly, and Eskild holds him tighter.

“Isak Valtersen,” Eskild says with his voice raw and his face wet in the crook of Isak’s neck, “you deserve all that’s good in the world. All that’s good. And I’m sorry that I can’t give it to you.”

Isak’s voice is muffled by Eskild’s shirt. “You deserve good things too, you know?” he says. “You deserve so much more than you get.”

And they cry.

Together, in Isak’s bed, they cry, and Isak’s been doing a lot of crying lately, but for some reason this time feels different. This time, it feels like he’s getting rid of all the weight that’s been on him for the past few days, weeks, months, years. It feels good. It feels like he’s healing with Eskild halfway in his lap.

Linn shuffles past after a while and pauses in the doorway.

“Get in here,” Eskild sniffles, opening an arm in her direction, and she clambers in bed and folds into him.

“Why are we crying?” she asks flatly, and Eskild scoffs at her.

“Do you need a reason?” he asks.

Linn shrugs. “Just wanted to know if it was happy or sad tears.”

Eskild presses a kiss to Isak’s forehead and Isak can feel his smile.

“A little of both, Linn,” Eskild answers. “A little of both.” 

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2016**

**12:01**

Isak awakens to the beautiful sound of Magnus landing in his bed and grunting, “What’s up, fucker?”

“Who the hell let you in?” Isak asks, barely coherent, blinking sleep from his eyes and staring at Magnus blankly. He’s not entirely sure that Magnus isn’t a hallucination.

Magnus doesn’t answer. “Jesus, it reeks in here. Open the curtains and grab a trash bag,” he directs to someone behind the door, and Isak glances over to see Jonas flashing him a grin.

“Hey, asshole,” Jonas says to Isak. “You had us worried.”

“Yeah, fuck.” Isak coughs as he sits up. “I’m sorry. Shit’s been… yeah. Shit.”

Light streams into the room as Jonas pulls back the curtains and Magnus starts to shuffle around, picking up clothes and trash from the floor.

“Please,” he begs, “please warn me if I’m about to touch something with cum on it.”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Isak and Jonas both ask in unison, Isak a little more aghast and Jonas a little more amused.

“There are tissues everywhere,” Magnus points out. Isak rolls his eyes.

“Eskild was crying,” Isak says. He pulls the blanket up tighter around him and watches Magnus chuck a pair of sweatpants into the growing pile of dirty clothes in the corner of Isak’s room. Part of him recognises that he should get up and help clean, but most of him is tired to the bone and barely present in his body, so he sits. Jonas comes back with the trash bag and starts throwing tissues and beer cans into it.

“Your dick was crying,” Magnus mutters. Jonas hits him with a pillow he grabs from the floor.

“Mags, you really don’t have to do this,” Isak protests weakly. 

“You,” Magnus says, pointing a finger at Isak accusingly, “are most likely depressed and should probably see a doctor. Me cleaning your room isn’t going to solve anything, but it’ll help things feel a bit more manageable. So, yes, I have to do this, because I’m friends with your bitchass and this is what friends do.”

Isak rolls his eyes again. “I’m not fucking depressed, man.”

From his place behind Magnus, Jonas looks at Isak pointedly. “Dude,” he says apologetically. Fuck him for siding with Magnus, Isak thinks.

“You’d rather stay home and sleep than do anything else,” Magnus says, counting reasons on his fingers, “you’ve lost interest in literally everything, you walk around like a zombie, you barely eat, and you don’t take care of yourself. We’re all fucking worried about you, man.”

“Fuck off,” Isak snaps. “You’re not a fucking doctor.”

“My mom’s bipolar and I’ve been seeing depressive episodes since I was born,” Magnus states firmly. “I’m not a fucking doctor but I know what I’m talking about and I think you should see one.”

Isak immediately feels bad.”I’m sorry,” he says quietly. They’re his friends, he reminds himself, and his friends are just trying to look out for him.

“Don’t apologize,” Jonas breaks in, “just, like, fucking take care of yourself, man. Physically and emotionally. Shit’s rough right now.”

“Shit’s rough right now,” Isak agrees.

“Yeah,” Magnus adds. There’s silence for a second, and then Magnus claps his hands together. “Where’s your vacuum, yeah? Time to suck the fuck out of some dirt.”

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2016**

**08:32**

He’s back at school. He’s back at school and he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do, but Jonas and Magnus and Mahdi are meeting him at the front doors so he doesn’t have to do it alone. 

There are whispers that follow them through the halls and Isak bites his lip hard enough that he tastes blood. 

Jonas walks him to his first class. “Just get through to lunch, yeah?” he says reassuringly.

“Yeah,” Isak answers. They both ignore the way his voice shakes.

Isak steels himself and walks in.

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2016**

**11:45**

Lunch and he’s fucking survived this far. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the boys at the table, Jonas setting out food for him to make sure he eats, and he makes a beeline for his seat even though he feels like there are a thousand eyes on his back. 

“You made it, bro,” Mahdi says, grin lighting up the table. Mags gives him a gentle punch to the shoulder and Jonas pushes a piece of bread over to him. 

Isak offers them a weak grin. It’s exhausting to just exist, let alone to try to juggle class and the way people look at him, half with pity and half with interest, a little bit of disgust and a little bit of fear and he pretends like he doesn’t see it at all.

“Don’t look,” Jonas whispers, low and urgent, “but Even’s walking past.”

Isak resists the urge to snap his head up. Even’s taken a backseat lately, not even the biggest problem in his life, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still jump out of his skin every time Even’s name is mentioned.

He feels Even watching.

There’s something about the weight of Even’s gaze that’s different from everyone else’s and he’s afraid, afraid of what that means and afraid of what that makes Even.

He pushes it to the back of his mind.

“Oh, did I tell you about the girl I hooked up with?” Magnus asks earnestly. “I swear she had a tail.”

Isak almost spits out his bread and it’s the first time in ages that his stomach hurts with laughter.

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2016**

**12:13**

It’s not so bad if he ignores the voices that go silent when he gets too close. Isak sits in biology and taps his pencil against the desk, sitting alone in the back, tucked into his hoodie and trying to remain as invisible as possible. Of course, it doesn’t work.

“Isak,” a girl says. “Isak Valtersen?”

“Uh, yeah?” He turns around.

“Hi,” she says, sitting behind him and smiling brightly. “Is it true that you’re gay?”

And there’s something about hearing the word now, in this context, that makes his heart beat and his vision tremble and his breath catch and he doesn’t know what to say.

But that’s okay, because someone else slides into the seat next to him and takes over.

“I’m going to need you to mind your own damn business,” Sana Bakkoush says with a cheerful grin in the direction of the girl. “Do you think you can manage that?”

The girl blushes and ducks her head and Isak turns back around. 

“Thank you,” he mutters to Sana. 

“Anyone who gives you shit goes through me, alright?” Sana says. Isak blinks. She’s short,  built small and adorable, but there’s a flash in her eyes that leaves him with no doubt that she could and would kill a man, so he just nods.

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry about that,” he adds.

She looks at him quizzically. “What are you apologizing for?”

Isak runs a hand through his hair and tugs his hoodie up further over his face. “I, uh, I don’t know. Just… sorry.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

They get to work.

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2016**

**15:09**

He’s leaving class when he sees it.

**Pappa:** _ Missed call & Voicemail _

Fuck.

“Hi Isak. You’re not answering my texts, so I, um, I figured that I might as well call. Your mamma’s not doing too well right now. I’m thinking about taking her to the hospital. Just to make sure she’s getting the care she needs, because I don’t think that I can give it to her. But, um, I’m trying, Isak. I promise that I’m trying. Please call me back. I miss you and I love you.”

Isak rubs at his temples as he plays the message for the fifth time, and then he calls back.

“Isak?” his father answers.

“What are you talking about, a hospital?” he asks, without greeting or introduction. “She’s not sick.”

He can hear his pappa shift on the other end of the phone. He imagines that Terje’s not even home, probably sitting down for breakfast in his new apartment or already in his office, ignoring the fact that he has a wife and a son to care for. 

“She is sick, son,” his pappa says with caution in his voice. “Just not… physically.”

“I know what mental illness is,” Isak snaps.

“Okay, well, you mother is, uh, losing touch with reality. I think she needs to get more help than I can give her,” Terje continues. 

Isak sniffs. “Why can’t she just stay home? I’ll come back and take care of her.” He’s disgusted by how small his voice sounds and he’s disgusted that he offered because he vowed to never step foot in that house again, to never go back to the life he left behind.

“Isak,” his father sighs, “that wouldn’t help her. She needs medication. She needs doctors. And I’m sorry to say this, but I’ve already made the decision. I’m the adult here, and while I respect your opinion, she’s leaving on Sunday. You can stop by tomorrow to say goodbye to her if you wish.”

Isak’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. “You can’t do this to her,” he says quietly.

“I already have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: getting outed, slight mention of suicidal ideation
> 
> i'm sorry that this literally took me two months to write!!! this verse is emotionally exhausting and while i love it deeply, it's hard sometimes. i am trying my best and i will be working on a new chapter :-D
> 
> message me on tumblr with any questions
> 
> i have to wake up in about four hours so goodnight yall, hope you enjoy


	6. six.

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2016**

**08:14**

He’s home.

The weirdest part of this whole thing is how he realises that he expected the house to change, expected there to be some sort of discernable alteration that let everyone know that yes, something was different here. 

Something fell apart here.

But there’s nothing and it looks like the house he’s known for his entire life, the one where his father made waffles for breakfast and his mother planted flowers out front and he played with their dog in the yard, the one where his father’s fist shattered through the living room wall and his mother’s screaming woke him up and he cried so hard he thought he’d pop a rib.

It’s a house made up of good and bad and he’s terrified of it.

And he realises then that this isn’t home; this hasn’t been home for a long while. He found home in a little apartment miles away. He found home with Eskild’s singing voice and borrowing Linn’s eyeliner, two gay men and a lesbian who believe in found homes and found families and there’s love there, love that he can go back to when this is all over and he knows that. He breathes.

He breathes, once, twice, and then he steps to the door. 

Isak knocks because this isn’t his home anymore. It belongs to someone else, belongs to the Isak of the past and to the Mamma of the present, but it’s his father who opens the door and Isak clenches his jaw. 

“Hi, Isak. You can come in.”

And Isak’s first reaction is to tense up because here’s his father giving him  _ permission  _ to enter a house that neither of them live in. He has no right. No right and yet here they are anyways, Isak nodding and falling in step behind his father and the house is dark, lights turned off, probably because his mom forgot to pay the power bill and his heart beats a little faster on the way up to her room. 

“What’s she like right now?” he asks his pappa, and he cringes at the way that his voice shakes.

“She’s alright. She’s coherent and lucid.” He sounds curt and clinical and Isak hates it. 

If she were really alright, neither of them would be here right now, but that’s fine. His dad’s just a fucking liar.

Terje opens the door to the bedroom and Isak holds his breath, because he was raised to move with caution like there’s glass sculptures in a crowded hallway and he can’t break anything.

There’s a lump in the bed and she’s whispering something. Terje steps back to let Isak through and as he gets closer, he can make out the figure of his mother, tapping her fingers in a rhythm as she whispers.

“On God,” she’s saying, “on God I swear.”

“Hi, Mamma,” Isak whispers, bending down beside her head.

“Isak, my baby,” she says and she doesn’t sound surprised to see him. She sounds like she’s been waiting for him to arrive and Isak wonders with a pang of guilt if she has, if this entire time she’s thought he was sleeping over at Jonas’s or something and she’s just been here. 

“How are you?” he asks.

He can see her face now, light coming in through the windows even though the blinds are tightly closed. She gives him a sad smile and her eyes crinkle up and he almost cries right there because that’s his fucking mamma.

“Better now that you’re here,” she says. “But I’m okay. Just tired.”

He runs his hand through her hair like she did when he was sick and asks her the question he’s been asking since she first explained to him what was going on in her head.

“Is it scary right now?”

She catches his hand with her own and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “It was yesterday. It will be again. But right now, it’s good.”

“I’m glad,” he says quietly, and he matches her smile with one of his own. Hers grows in response. 

“I could move back in,” he says after a second, sounding desperate even to himself. “I could move back in and take care of you. I know I can, but Pappa won’t let me and I want to, I want to take care of you --”

“Isak,” she says, cutting him off, “I know you think you can. But it’s not good for you. And what’s not good for you is not good for me, do you understand? And your pappa, he tries. He tries to do good by you and right now that’s not letting you move back in. This is what’s best for all of us, okay?”

Isak wipes at the tear that’s somehow escaped.

His mother places her hand on his cheek. “I love you,” she says. “From the moment I saw you.”

“Love you too, Mamma.” 

She leaves looking small in the passenger seat of his father’s car and Isak cries, but nobody sees.

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2016**

**09:50**

“Isak,” Eskild announces as soon as he walks in the door, “I have made a list.”

“Fuck, Eskild, I just want to sleep,” Isak says, but Eskild’s already walking towards him with a piece of paper covered in what looks like heart shaped stickers. 

“Alright, look,” Eskild says, ignoring Isak’s protests completely, “it’s a list of all your problems and their solutions.”

Isak takes the sheet because he thinks Eskild would deadass throttle him if he didn’t.

**< 3 ISAK’S ISSUES <3**

  1. Mental health
    1. SOLUTION: See a doctor!!!!!!!! I’ll help find one.
  2. Even
    1. SOLUTION: Talk to him! Either there was miscommunication or he’s a fucking asshole, so you’ll either communicate or get to yell at him. Both good scenarios.
  3. Coming out
    1. SOLUTION: Talk to me and Jonas and we’ll figure this one out more.
  4. Attendance
    1. SOLUTION: Go the fuck to school.
  5. Parents
    1. SOLUTION: Visit your mom in the hospital if you can.
    2. SOLUTION: Be cordial to your dad.
    3. SOLUTION: Know that whatever happens, I’ve got your back. Linn too. We love you and we’re a family.



“I figured this might help some,” Eskild says, hovering nervously, pulling at the strings of his robe. “I like lists and stickers, and they help me, so maybe they might help you, you know? Everything’s worth a try.”

“Eskild,” Isak says gently, “thank you.”

Eskild calms and smiles, wide and toothy and Isak appreciates him so fucking much. 

He leads Isak to the kitchen table and together they sit down with Google open on Eskild’s phone and within thirty minutes, they’ve got another list, this one full of psychologists and it scares the shit out of Isak but he does it for Eskild, does it to see the way he writes down names and numbers and makes a little system out of the stickers to mark which ones he thinks will be best for Isak. And Isak’s afraid of being crazy like his mother, and Isak’s afraid of talking to another person about what goes on in his mind, and Isak’s afraid of a lot of things but the way Eskild puts so much passion into this and so much belief into him makes him brave. 

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2016**

**10:12**

Jonas wakes him up with a punch to the arm.

“Get up,” he says, “we’re calling psych offices and figuring shit out.”

Isak finds himself in the midst of what Eskild dubs the “Help Isak Headquarters,” which is full of lists and rainbow stickers and everyone’s phone plugged into the same surge protector while they make calls and leave messages. 

“Okay,” Eskild says after a good while, “they should start calling back tomorrow. Is it okay if we talk about the whole outing scenario now?”

Isak shifts in his seat and his heart speeds up but he nods anyways, because he’s got Jonas and Eskild with him and he’s brave right now.

“Jonas, update.”

“Julian feels fucking awful,” Jonas says, and Isak blinks.

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t him that outed you. Well, kind of -- he mentioned it like, offhand to this girl in first year, the one who had a crush on you, and she spread it.”

“Who?”

“Emma?”

“Oh, fuck.” Isak puts his head in his hands. He remembers blowing her off so he could be with Even on that night and he’s a fucking dumbass for not letting her down more nicely.

Eskild crosses his arms. “Why’d Julian tell Emma in the first place?”

“Julian’s bi and they’ve been messing around. Isak’s name came up and Julian was just like ‘oh, yeah, I saw him in the club,’ and Emma freaked out and made him tell her everything. Issy, Julian wants to apologise to you directly tomorrow morning, if that’s okay.”

Isak swallows around the hoarseness in his throat and says, “Yeah.”

Jonas nods.

“Okay, that’s all well and good, but what about Emma?” Eskild asks. “Like, she needs to apologise.”

Jonas winces. “Yeah, that’s not going to be so easy. She thinks she did Isak a favor.”

“She  _ what _ ?” Isak says, staring at Jonas in shock.

“I don’t know, man, the girl’s problematic as fuck,” he answers with a shrug and another sip of coffee.

“Jesus,” Isak mumbles.

“Last I heard, she thinks you weren’t brave enough to come out and she thinks that by fucking  _ forcing  _ you out she’s helping you, which is, you know, fucking horrible, to say the least,” Jonas explains.

“I hate straight girls,” Eskild declares.

“That’s valid,” Linn mumbles as she walks into the kitchen.

“Linn, darling,” Eskild begins, turning around in his seat, “how did you come out?”

She takes a swig of orange juice from the jug and Isak makes a mental note not to drink any more.

“Some dude called me a lesbian in front of my friends and I said yeah. Never came out to my parents, though.”

With that, she leaves, probably back to bed, and Eskild nods. 

“Sounds about right,” he says.

Isak chews at his lip. “I think… I think I want to come out to my mom, at least. On my own terms.”

“I hope you know that you don’t have to,” Eskild tells him gently, “but I think that it’s incredible and inspiring that you’re choosing to.”

“Maybe not soon,” Isak adds quickly.

“On your own terms means you choose when and where and how,” Jonas says, nudging Isak’s shoulder with his own. “You get to do what you want. That’s how it should have been from the beginning.”

Isak doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for his friends.

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2016**

**11:04**

Mahdi, Magnus, and Jonas all wait with Isak. Mahdi’s quiet, kicking stones with his Nikes and Magnus is humming some Drake beat and bouncing around. The kid’s like an Energizer Bunny. Isak and Jonas sit side-by-side and their feet knock together when Isak bounces his leg. 

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this kind of comfort around Jonas. Since they were kids, he thinks. For a long time, it was Isak avoiding looking at Jonas for too long, avoiding thinking about Jonas for too long, avoiding anything that acknowledged that he was in gay and in love with his best fucking friend. And his friendship with Jonas suffered as a result. He never reached out, never let them hang out alone, always kept distance between them. He thinks now that falling out of love with Jonas has been the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He has his best friend back, the one that cracks jokes and looks at him like he deserves the whole world and leans against him on the tram and Isak’s not in love with Jonas anymore, but he sure as fuck loves him. He loves Jonas with the kind of certainty that only comes with time. And with that love is comfort, and with that love is peace, and with that love is Isak and Jonas, together like they’ve always been and always will be. 

“Hey, Isak,” Julian says quietly, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks small, no longer confident, no longer capable of destroying Isak’s life with a few words. It’s already done.

Isak presses his shoulder in Jonas’s. “Julian.”

Julian takes a deep breath and Isak watches as he chews at his lips before speaking. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you. To apologise to you, actually. There’s no excuse for what I did and I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant to and that’s no excuse because I did, I did hurt you, and I’m sorry. Yeah. That’s… that’s all.”

He shifts nervously under Isak’s gaze. 

“Okay,” Isak says. Jonas elbows him. “Thanks for… not being an much of ass as you could have been, I guess.”

Julian huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I deserve that. But, really, man, if there’s anything I can do…”

“Thanks. I’m good though.”

Julian sticks out his right hand, a little awkwardly, and Isak slaps his own hand against it. 

“Okay,” Julian says, giving Isak an uncomfortable smile, “see you around.”

Isak nods. 

“Dude,” Magnus says as soon as Julian is out of earshot, “don’t you think you were a little harsh?”

“Nah,” Mahdi answers for Isak, “he’s fine. Julian fucked up.”

“The man speaks the truth,” Jonas adds, and it’s not even that funny but Isak laughs anyways, his whole body feeling lighter, each bone stretching and growing and reaching towards the sun. He blinks in the brightness. 

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2016**

**19:00**

**Isak:** _ (19:00) _ Hey.

**Even:** _ (19:01)  _ Hey

**Isak:** _ (19:03)  _ Can we talk?

**Even:** _ (19:03)  _ What are you doing right now?

**Isak:** _ (19:05)  _ Chilling at home.

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2016**

**19:53**

Even hasn’t texted back. And Isak’s trying not to stress about, trying to breathe, trying to put oxygen in his lungs and fucking  _ breathe _ , damn it.

So he’s laying upside down on the couch, with his legs over the cushion and his head touching the floor. And he’s trying to breathe and not check his phone. In the grand scheme of things, he’s doing pretty well.

The doorbell rings and Eskild yelps from the kitchen.

“Pizza’s here,” he calls, hauling ass with money in his hand and his silk robe flowing behind him. 

He opens the door and Isak closes his eyes, trying to will his phone to buzz. 

“Oh,” Eskild says, sounding shocked. “Hello.”

Isak cracks an eye open, because that is  _ not  _ the reaction you give to a pizza delivery guy and then --

“Hi.”

If Isak ever doesn’t recognize that voice, assume he’s dead. 

“Fuck,” he says, falling off the couch in an attempt to make it to the door before Even introduces himself, but it’s too fucking late.

“I’m Even. Is Isak here?” And he sounds so polite and cordial and fucking perfect and Isak is literally on all fours trying to scramble to his feet.

He can see Eskild take a step back. “Yeah,” Eskild says, still sounding like someone stole his lungs, “come on in.”

And then Even’s in his apartment.

Even’s in his fucking apartment, the place where he was supposed to be safe, and this is not what he expected when he sent that text, because Isak Valtersen is a planner! He’s a planner and he did not plan for any of this to happen to him. 

At least he’s standing when Even comes into the living room. 

And at least Eskild has the tact to go into his room and close the door.

“Hey,” Even says quietly. He looks tired, circles under his eyes and greasy hair flopping out from under a light hoodie. “You wanted to talk?”

“I - yeah,” Isak says. “I wanted to talk.”

“Okay.” 

“Do you… Would you like to sit down?” Isak asks awkwardly, gesturing to the couch. Even shoots him a very uncomfortable grin and sits, gingerly, on the edge of the couch, more like he’s perching. 

Isak stares at him. This whole situation is just fucking bizzare and he almost wants to laugh. 

Even shifts on the couch. Good. He should be uncomfortable. It serves him right.

“So,” Even says, not meeting Isak’s gaze, “I guess you wanted to talk about Sonja.”

And something about hearing her name in Even’s mouth, the casual familiarity with which he dropped it, makes Isak unmistakably angry. 

“No,” he answers shortly, “I want to talk about us.”

He sits across from Even, who shifts again, drumming his fingers on his leg.

“Look,” Isak says, mustering all his courage, all his anger, all his sadness, “I’m going to be straight up. Was it real?”

Even blinks. “Was what real?”

“This whole thing,” Isak says, waving his hand through the air. “You and me. Us. The stars. The whole date thing that you talked about. Was it real, or were you just fucking around with me?”

“Fuck, Isak.”

Isak waits.

Even runs a hand through his hair, pushing off the hoodie. “It was real. So fucking real that it scared me, you know?”

Isak waits some more.

“Like, I’ve never felt that kind of connection before, you know? It was like some cosmic level shit. And I wanted it so badly,” Even says, speaking quickly now, “I wanted it. I wanted dinner dates and taking things slow and God, I wanted you.” He pauses. “I still want you,” he adds quietly.

“But you have a girlfriend,” Isak says. It’s the only thing he can think.

Even shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Sonja is... It’s complicated. She’s been such a huge part of my life for the past, like, four years that it’s hard to differentiate between us, you know? She’s not my girlfriend, I can tell you that. But she’s still very much a presence in my life.” 

And this all sounds fine and dandy, sure, but Isak has fire in his gut and he’s getting his fucking shit together and that includes covering all his bases, so he clenches his fists hard enough that his nails dig into his palms and says, “She introduced herself as your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been kind of on and off towards the end, here. We were off when I… when you and I were together,” Even says carefully. “But that day at KB, we were talking about maybe getting back together, and she kind of took that possibly to mean definitely. I knew as soon as I saw you that I couldn’t go back to her, though.”

Isak takes a second to consider what he’s thinking, and the only thing in his mind is, in rainbow swirly text,  _ fuck this guy _ .

Because it all sounds like bullshit, yeah? It sounds like shitty fanfiction that some random gay kid wrote, all the right words but not necessarily with the right meaning behind them. 

“Listen,” Isak says, and his voice only shakes a little, “you obviously have a lot of shit going on that you need to figure out. I think you should take some time to do that.”

He sounds a lot more assertive than he thought he would, and he’s proud of that. 

“Yeah.” Even looks kind of pitiful, lacing his fingers together on Isak’s couch. 

“Okay,” Isak says.

Even stands. “Okay. Can I text you?”

And Isak tilts his head, seriously considering it, and he lets his guard down for the first time through this whole thing as he says, “Once we both get our shit together.”

Even cracks a smile at that, a real one.

“Cool,” he says. “Talk to you then.”

And then he’s gone and Isak’s collapsing on the couch.

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2016**

**08:38**

“School can suck my dick,” Isak mutters, pulling the covers over his head. 

Eskild continues to jump on his bed.

“Get up, baby gay!” he crows, angling his jumps so that he just barely misses Isak’s body. 

Isak groans, because he knows that Eskild’s right and he  _ does  _ have to go to school, his attendance on thin fucking ice, and he walked around all of yesterday with his earbuds in and it was fine, it was okay, it was all good. 

He sits up and Eskild whoops.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Isak says. “I’m getting up.”

He’s pretty sure that Eskild stands outside the door while he gets dressed. Which is, like, the kind of helicopter parenting that he’s been missing for his entire life, so he’s not sure he minds it all that much.

“Coffee?” Eskild asks when Isak opens the door, stepping backwards quickly.

Isak shakes his head. “I’m good.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and crams his feet into his shoes and then he’s out the door, Eskild waving behind him. 

Fuck. He didn’t brush his teeth.

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2016**

**12:13**

Isak slides into a seat beside Magnus and tries to ignore the way Magnus looks at his plate, taking in the single cheese toastie, and the way Magnus’s eyes flash up to Isak’s face.

“Hey,” Isak says.

“Do you like things in your ass?” Magnus asks conversationally. 

“What the actual fuck?” Isak coughs. 

“Because of the whole gay thing,” Magnus explains, sounding genuine and earnest. “I’ve been doing some research. Are you a bottom?”

Staring blankly, Isak decides then that Magnus is the worst person he knows.

“I’m not… answering that.”

Magnus nods and attempts a wink. “Gotcha,” he says.

“No, no,” Isak says, splaying his hands across the table, “you don’t ‘got’ anything. I said nothing.”

Another exaggerated wink from Magnus. 

“Mags,” Isak warns, and then Jonas wraps one arm around him and tousles his hair with the other.

“What’s good, lads?” Jonas asks as he swings into the seat next to Isak. Mahdi is behind him, shooting Isak a nod and Magnus a grin. 

“I was just asking Isak --”

“Nothing. He was asking me nothing.”

“-- if he’s a top or a bottom.” Magnus smiles angelically.

Fuck Magnus.

“Bottom,” Jonas says without batting an eye.

“Really? I was going to say top,” Madhi adds, arching an eyebrow.

“If we’re talking about my sex life, I’m leaving,” Isak threatens.

“Now,” Magnus says, gesturing with a soda can, “is he a twink?”

All three of his friends turn to consider him and he’s got to stick to his word, doesn’t he? So Isak, ever the dramatic, takes his cheese toastie and stands, searching for an open seat and when he sees one the next table over, he makes a beeline.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Even says from behind him. “Mind if I sit?”

Isak is trapped, but he can hear Magnus (incorrectly) explaining what a bear is and so he shrugs.

Even sits beside him. “Better than stale Doritos?” he asks with a nod to the cheese toastie.

Isak cracks a grin at that reference and shrugs again. “There’s something special about stale Doritos,” he says.

It’s weird how comfortable this feels.

“Ah, the special flavor of giving up,” Even teases.

Isak’s phone vibrates and he takes a quick peek at the groupchat.

**Magnus:** _ (12:20)  _ HELLO??????? WHOMST IS THAT

**Mahdi:** _ (12:21)  _ :eyes:

**Jonas:** _ (12:21)  _ mind your business and let my mans chill

**Magnus:** _ (12:22)  _ Jonas Noah Vasquez What Do You Know.

**Isak:** **_(_ ** _ 12:23)  _ :middlefinger:

Jonas texts him outside of the group.

**Jonas:** _ (12:23)  _ do i tell them to stfu or do i tell them what happened?

**Isak:** _ (12:23)  _ just say we hooked up once

**Jonas:** _ (12:24)  _ cool

He hears Magnus whoop from the next table and stifles a laugh.

He didn’t expect being out to be like this, with friends that still love him and ask him incredibly invasive questions like it’s normal. Friends that treat him like  _ he’s  _ normal.

“So,” Even says awkwardly, “how’s your day going?”

It’s cute that he’s trying and Isak lets himself feel a little lighter for a second as he answers, “Pretty boring, but otherwise good. You?”

Even looks over at him and Isak almost falls out of his seat because he forgot how much eye contact with Even makes him feel. All his nerves are on fire.

Even grins. “It’s been shit, but it’s getting better.”

Isak coughs and looks away in an attempt to cover up his blush. “Good to hear.”

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 2016**

**15:30**

“Oh, sorry,” Even jokes, raising his arm over his head, “did you want a hit? You wanted a hit of this? You want to smoke some weed? It sucks that you can’t reach it, huh?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, Bech Næsheim.”

“We’re doing last names now?” Even asks as he raises his eyebrows. “God. You suck his dick once and he thinks he’s in charge.”

Isak snatches the joint from Even’s hand in retribution.

The two of them are walking back to Even’s house from school, an unplanned hangout that both of them are pretending isn’t real, because neither of them have their shit together. But they’ve kept the deal -- they haven’t texted. At all.

But they’re joking and laughing and bumping shoulders and sharing a joint and Isak can’t stop thinking that his lips are in the same place that Even’s were. Which is, you know, dangerous.

They get back to Even’s house and Isak follows Even through the door, slipping off his shoes as Even calls a greeting.

“Sweet,” Even says under his breath when there’s no response, and Isak snorts, which earns him an elbow to the stomach.

Even leads him to his bedroom and it looks different in the light. Isak takes some time to look around, eyes landing on the art taped to the wall, and he smiles to himself when he notices that all the signs of Sonja are gone.

Even’s sat on the bed rolling another joint when Isak’s phone rings. 

Lazy with weed, he takes it out slowly and glances at the screen.

Pappa.

“Fuck,” he says out loud, his heart racing, and he answers it with his fingers slipping.

“Isak?” Even asks, but Isak barely hears him.

“Is she okay?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Is she  _ okay _ ?” Isak repeats with more urgency than he thought possible.

“Hello, son,” Terje says calmly. Isak wants to throttle him. “She’s okay.”

Isak closes his eyes and breathes with relief.

“They want to, uh, keep her for a little while longer,” Terje says. 

“How long?”

He can hear Terje sigh. “Well, with a condition such as your mother’s, they --”

“Cut the bullshit, Pappa,” Isak says, voice trembling. It’s been a long time since he’s called his dad Pappa.

“Indefinitely.”

“Fuck,” Isak says, and he hangs up, breathing heavily.

“Isak,” Even says again, gently.

“I need…” Isak closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. “I need to be high.”

Even hands him the joint and the lighter. “I’ll open the window.”

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 2016**

**17:04**

Isak is high. Like,  _ high  _ high.

Like his head doesn’t feel like a head anymore and Even’s playing old hip-hop records and Isak’s sprawled on the floor like a starfish.

“Fuck, I’m high,” Isak says, and his mouth feels fluffy.

Even sits down next to him. “Yeah, you fucking are.”

There’s a thread hanging off the seam on the side of Even’s jeans and Isak wraps it around his finger.

“I need to talk to Jonas,” Isak says.

“Okay.” Even catches Isak’s fingers in his own. “You should call him.”

Isak hums. “Or I could just… lay here.”

“Good plan,” Even says, and then he’s next to Isak and his arm is around Isak’s shoulders and Isak is laying his head on Even’s chest and it all happened so quickly that he didn’t even realise. Or maybe he’s so high that he didn’t even realise.

“I’m gonna get my mom out of the hospital,” Isak says. He’s studying the skin on his hand -- or, wait, that’s Even’s hand. They’re holding hands.

“Why’s she in the hospital?” Even’s breath is warm in his ear and he feels chills race down his body.

“’Cause she’s… crazy.”

Even is silent for far too long. “In what way?”

“In like… okay, so when I was little, instead of being like, ‘hello, dear Mother, are you perhaps having a psychotic episode?’ I would always ask her ‘is it scary?’ And if she said yes, then it was bad.”

Even nods and Isak can feel it against his head. “So she has psychosis?”

“Dunno. Nobody’s ever explained to me what’s going on. Sometimes I’d wake up and she’d be praying over me, or sometimes she’d go into the bathrooms and cover up all the mirrors, or sometimes she’d cry until I thought she’d pass out. And my dad just… ignored it.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Even says, and boy, if Isak thought he had chills before, it’s nothing compared to now.

“S’okay.”

“It’s not.”

Isak shrugs.

Even pulls him tighter. “Wanna shotgun?”

“I have never wanted anything more in my entire life,” Isak mutters into Even’s shoulder.

And Even laughs, pulls another joint from god knows where, and lights it. And then his lips are on Isak’s and there’s smoke in Isak’s lungs and he feels full, feels like he’s made of cotton candy, and then Even’s just kissing him.

Even’s kissing him.

And he’s kissing Even, hands tangled in his hair, mouth hanging open, letting Even direct him with a hand on his jaw, and all his senses are on fire. 

He’s on fire.

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2016**

**07:37**

“Baby. Wake up.”

Funny how Isak becomes a morning person all of a sudden.

“Yeah?” he whispers. They’re crammed in Even’s bed, where they fell asleep fully clothed after making out and grinding against each other for a good while. 

“School,” Even says.

“Oh, shit.” Isak lifts his head and he might actually still be a little high. 

Even stands and starts rifling through his dresser. “You want to borrow a t-shirt?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, knowing full well what that means. Even tosses him a gray shirt and Isak takes off his old one, stuffing it in his backpack, and changes into Even’s.

Even’s getting dressed as well, and when he’s done, he turns to Isak and smirks. “You look good in my clothes.”

He takes a step towards Isak and links his fingers in Isak’s belt loops, and Isak can’t help the way his heart skips a beat. Their hips meet and then Even says, quietly, “Can I kiss you?”

Isak kisses him before he’s done asking.

“School!” Even exclaims after a few long seconds. He backs away. “Devil boy,” he chides.

“Who, me?” Isak asks, playfully aghast.

“Sent from hell to tempt me,” Even teases. 

Isak rolls his eyes.

“Want a toothbrush?” Even asks, and Isak, again, knows full well what that means.

“I do indeed.”

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2016**

**08:24**

They walk into school together and Isak watches Jonas’s eyebrows shoot off his forehead.

“I’m gonna go to class,” Even says, eyeing Jonas, who’s making a beeline for them. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, and then Even’s gone.

“Hell-fucking-o?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Good morning, Jonas.”

Jonas puts a death grip on his arm and leads him into the bathroom, which smells like a healthy mix of weed, piss, and cigarettes.

“Explain,” Jonas demands.

Isak shrugs, deciding to play it nonchalant, and says, “I slept over at Even’s last night.”

“And that’s his shirt,” Jonas notes.

“Good eye.”

Jonas socks him in the arm, hard. “Bitch!”

“Ow! Mother _ fucker _ .”

“I can’t believe you  _ fucked him _ .” 

“I didn’t fuck him!”

“Sure, yeah, sure.”

“We just made out. For a long time.”

Jonas raises his eyebrows again, like he doesn’t believe Isak, like he thinks Isak spent his night with Even’s dick in his ass.

“Fuck off,” Isak says, spinning towards the door.

“Fine,” Jonas says. He raises his hands in surrender and lets Isak leave. “Slut,” he mutters under his breath.

Isak hits him in the chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES


	7. seven.

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2016**

**10:07**

Even still hasn’t texted him. And it’s not like he’s  _ waiting _ for Even to text him, but, like, it would be kind of nice. And it’s not like he’s spending half his time checking his phone, but, like, you know how it is. He’s seventeen and he likes a boy.

Which, actually, is an interesting concept. Does he like Even? And not to sound like a five-year-old, but does he  _ like  _ like Even?

Half of him is still pissed as fuck at how Even handled the whole Sonja situation, all the miscommunication and misconceptions and literal hell that he went through. That half of him definitely does not like Even. But that’s half. And the other half really, really, really clearly remembers how Even’s lips felt on his, and how Even’s muscles moved underneath his hands, and, speaking of movement, how Even moved inside of him…

He doesn’t get out of bed for another hour.

**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2016**

**16:17**

“Have you eaten today?” Eskild asks conversationally, breezing into the room.

Isak blinks. He’s laying on the couch with some superhero movie playing while he messes around on the Instagram explore page. 

“Uh… I had a piece of bread earlier,” he says, and as he says it, he realises how pathetic it sounds, and Eskild looks at him with a mix of pity, disgust, and concern on his face.

“I’m ordering Chinese takeout,” Eskild says. “Want me to get you orange chicken and you can give me cash?”

“Yes, please,” Isak answers quietly. Eskild looks out for him and it makes him feel like a shit person half the time, but he knows that if Eskild knew that, he’d give Isak a stern lecture about his value as a human being, and so the voice of reason in his head has the same rise and fall to it as Eskild’s.

Isak switches between Instagram and Facebook and the games on his phone until the food arrives, and then he hands Eskild his money and takes his chicken and goes to disappear into his room.

“Hey,” Eskild says, “eat with me in the kitchen?”

Isak considers it for a second. “Okay, yeah.”

“Yeah?” Eskild sounds a little surprised. Isak shrugs and offers him a little smile before heading into the kitchen.

The two of them eat in a comfortable silence. 

“So,” Eskild asks, “have you gotten any calls back from psychologists?” He’s intentionally avoiding eye contact with Isak and Isak knows, and he’s grateful. Eskild always looks at him with so much love that it’s overwhelming sometimes.

“I got a couple,” Isak answers carefully. “Still trying to figure out my schedule and, like, if I want to go.”

Eskild spoons some more rice onto his plate. “Isak, my dear, I’m not going to force you to do anything. But I will say that I think that it is an incredibly good idea for you to talk to someone, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Isak says, quiet as he takes a bite of chicken. “I just don’t want to be crazy.” And he says it with a roll of his eyes and a little hint of a smile, but he’s dead honest because he thinks it’s his worst fear, and telling Eskild makes his heart jump and his lungs seize up and he waits for Eskild to reply with bated breath.

“That’s dumb as shit,” Eskild says matter-of-factly. 

Isak blinks.

“Like, first of all, that’s a shit way of approaching mental health. Everyone has issues, you know? And it’s all about handling those issues and the way that you interact with yourself and the world around you, and I’m not saying that you need to be in therapy forever, but, like, you have a lot going on right now, baby gay. And a psychologist can help you figure out how to cope and give you the tools you need to function.” Eskild picks up a piece of broccoli with chopsticks and waves it, eyes softening as he looks at Isak. “Getting help isn’t a sign of weakness, Isak. It’s a sign of strength.”

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Isak takes a second to think. “Yeah,” he says eventually, “That sounds right.”

“So you’ll call them back?”

“I will,” Isak says, offering Eskild a gentle smile. 

Eskild grins back. “Awesome.”

They finish their food and wash dishes together, side by side in the kitchen, and Isak doesn’t have his shit together yet, but he’s getting there.

He’ll get there.

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 2016**

**11:55**

Isak spends his Sunday catching up on homework and studying, and he straightens up his room a little bit, putting in a load of laundry and opening his curtains to let the light in.

He works on biology for a few hours, taking a break to open up a bag of (not stale) Doritos and grab a glass of water. He makes progress. He understands concepts. And he’s been avoiding it for a while, but today he’s thinking about his future a little bit, and he thinks he wants to do something with bioscience. It’s the only thing he’s really willing to put in the work for.

**Jonas:** _ (14:04)  _ Hey man how’s it going

**Isak:** _ (14:05)  _ It’s going

**Jonas:** _ (14:05)  _ Oh?

**Isak:** _ (14:06)  _ I’m working on school shit

**Jonas:** _ (14:07)  _ Damn same

**Jonas:** _ (14:07)  _ You good though? Gonna be in school tomorrow?

Isak rolls his eyes, a gut reaction, but he appreciates it more than he thinks Jonas knows.

**Isak:** _ (14:08)  _ yeah

**Jonas:** _ (14:09)  _ Cool, just checking

Isak slides his phone to the side and continues to flip through his textbook.

**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2016**

**16:39**

“Hi, this is Isak Valtersen. I, um, called a little while ago about setting up an appointment with Dr. Olsen?” He winces a little bit and presses his nails into his palm.

“Hi!” the woman on the other end of the line answers, chipper. “Dr. Olsen actually just had a cancellation on Wednesday, so I can put you in for an introductory appointment then, if that works?”

It’s all happening so fast and Isak grabs for a pen and a sticky note. “Yeah,” he says, holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear, “what time?”

“It’d be at fifteen,” she says. 

“That’s good,” Isak says, scrawling  _ therapy 15 wednesday  _ on the paper.

“Great! I’m entering it now. You know where our office is?”

Isak nods as he says, “Yeah, I’ll find it.”

“Perfect,” the woman answers, and Isak can hear the clicking of a keyboard. “The appointment will be an hour long. If you need to cancel, we require twenty-four-hour notice. Other than that, you should be good to go.”

“Okay,” Isak says. “I’ll, uh, see you Wednesday, I guess. Thanks.”

“Of course! Bye, now.”

“Bye,” Isak echoes with an exhale, and he hangs up.

Well. That happened. It was surprisingly easier than he thought, too. 

He sits down on his bed and runs his hands over his jeans. Yeah, he thinks. Yeah.

**Eskild:** _ (16:50)  _ Home for dinner tonight?

**Isak:** _ (16:51)  _ no, I’m going to be at Jonas’s

**Eskild:** _ (16:51)  _ Give him my love!!!

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 2016**

**14:56**

Isak has successfully filled out all the paperwork required for his appointment and he’s currently sitting in a chair in the waiting room, biting his nails as he scrolls through Instagram.

“Isak Valtersen?” a voice says, and Isak jerks his head up to find an older man with a kind face standing in the doorway of an office.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says, scrambling to his feet.

The man smiles gently and gestures for Isak to come into the office, so he does. It’s comfortable, a leather chair sat facing a blue couch, lights low and warm.

Isak gingerly places himself on the couch.

“I’m Dr. Olsen,” the man says, settling into the chair with a clipboard on his lap. “For a first appointment, I’d just like to hear you speak for a little bit about what brings you in, if that’s alright.”

Isak nods and swallows, his throat dry.

“Yeah, uh, I just have a lot of stuff going on right now and my friends thought I should talk to someone, so, yeah, I’m here.”

“What kind of stuff is going on?”

“Just, like, normal teenage stuff,” Isak says, shrugging. 

Dr. Olsen levels him with a gaze. “That sounds to me like you’re downplaying.”

“A little bit,” Isak admits, shifting his weight. “Um, recently, things have been kind of going shit. Oh, fuck, can I swear?”

“You can,” Dr. Olsen says, smiling.

“Right, yeah, so my dad put my mom into the hospital and some girl outed me at school, and I’ve been having trouble with my schoolwork and my attendance and my sleep, and then there’s this guy and things are really complicated with him, because he may or may not have a girlfriend? Well, he doesn’t, but it’s, yeah, it’s complicated.” He pulls at one of his curls and shifts his weight again.

“That certainly does sound like a lot.”

“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing here,” Isak admits. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Okay, well, the first thing I want you to know is that everything you say here is confidential unless I think you or someone else is in immediate danger. The second thing I’d say is that this is a safe place. My approach to therapy is based on working with you to give you a place to heal and grow in a healthy way, which right now just consists of me getting a good understanding of you as a person and building a relationship with you. If it doesn’t work out with me, I can give you recommendations of colleagues who might be a better fit. Does that help?”

Isak nods. “Yeah, it does.”

“Okay,” Dr. Olsen says with a smile. “Now, you said that your mother’s in the hospital? That must be stressful for you.”

Isak scratches at the back of his head. “Yeah, like, growing up, she was always struggling with her mental health, I guess, so I’m glad she’s getting help, but I also feel, like, an insane amount of guilt for moving out and leaving her alone.”

“Do you feel like moving out was a healthy choice for you?”

“For sure,” Isak says, and the answer comes with a certainty that surprises him. “My dad left when I was fifteen, which ended up putting a lot of pressure on me to take care of my mom, you know? And he and I never had, like, a good relationship to begin with.”

“It sounds to me like you had to raise yourself, in a way.”

“Yeah, I guess. My friends help a lot, though.”

Dr. Olsen tilts his head. “Tell me about your friends.”

“My best friend is Jonas. He’s been my best friend for, like, six years now, and he’s always been there for me no matter what. And then there’s Magnus and Madhi; we got to know them more this year, but they’re awesome. There was one point where I was really struggling, like couldn’t get out of bed kind of struggling, so Jonas and Magnus came over and cleaned my room and got me out of bed, and, yeah, that was really good.”

“It’s good that you have such a strong support system,” Dr. Olsen says, making a note on his clipboard. “I’d like to hear more about what ‘struggling’ sounds like for you, though.”

Isak shrugs. “It’s not, like, all that bad.” 

“Downplaying,” Dr. Olsen points out.

“Sometimes I can’t sleep,” Isak admits. “And Magnus thinks I’m depressed, because, like, I don’t get out of bed and I don’t really do a lot, like I’ve lost interest in a lot of things, and I guess I don’t really feel like myself a lot of the time.”

Dr. Olsen leans back in his chair a little bit. “Do you think you’re depressed?”

Isak shrugs again. “I’m not, like, sad.”

“Depression isn’t always sadness,” Dr. Olsen says gently. “Sometimes it can be feeling isolated, feeling lonely, feeling like you don’t matter. Sometimes it’s just a sense of feeling distant from everything around you, even yourself.”

And that hits hard for Isak. He blinks a couple times, twining his fingers together, and he says, “Yeah, I guess I feel like that a lot.”

Dr. Olsen nods. “A lot of people feel like that, Isak. You’re not alone.”

“How do I, like, stop feeling like that?” Isak asks, feeling dumb as shit as he does.

“You have options,” Dr. Olsen says. “I can’t prescribe you medication, but I can refer you to someone who does.”

“No,” Isak says firmly. “I don’t want to be on medication.”

“Okay,” Dr. Olsen nods. “In that case, you can continue with therapy. I think you’re a great candidate for talk therapy, in which you come in and we can discuss everything that’s in your head, and I can give you some coping mechanisms for when you’re not here.”

“I’d like that,” Isak says, quiet but sure.

“You mentioned that you were outed at school. How did that feel? How did you deal with it?”

“It felt like shit. At one point I, like, blacked out and couldn’t really breathe because I realised that this guy knew I was gay, and Jonas was there, and he helped a lot, but then the guy told some girl and I had to go to school and I ended up on the bathroom floor and it was just, yeah, it was mess.”

Dr. Olsen frowns a bit. “It sounds to me like you had an anxiety attack,” he says. “Has that ever happened before?”

Isak nods. “I’ve felt like that when my parents were fighting sometimes, or when my dad flipped shit and punched the wall, or when my mom was really bad and she was having delusions and stuff.”

Dr. Olsen writes something down. “Anxiety can be debilitating. Do you do anything to pull yourself out of that mindset?”

Isak thinks for a second. “When I started to feel like that at school, like, in the bathroom, I ended up hitting the wall a lot, and that helped. But it made me feel like my dad a little bit.”

“Your dad punches things out of anger, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s very different from using pain as a grounding technique.”

“I guess.”

Dr. Olsen makes another note and then looks up at Isak, his face lined but soft, and he says, “Isak, I think you’re an incredibly strong person. You manage things the best way you can, but I’d like to help you figure out some techniques that work for you. Being here is the first step, and I’m proud of you for going through with it and asking for help. Therapy takes a lot of work and commitment, but it can help you, and I hope that you continue with it. I’d recommend that you come in about once a week if you can. I want to make sure that you’re comfortable with me as a therapist before we go ahead and schedule any future appointments.”

“Yeah,” Isak says, nodding. “I feel like I want to keep going with you.”

“Okay,” Dr. Olsen says with a smile.

They talk scheduling for a bit, figuring out what times work for both of them, and Isak ends up with a Thursday appointment for next week, a step-by-step list of a breathing exercise to help with anxiety, and a sense that things might be okay until then.

When he leaves, Dr. Olsen shakes his hand warmly, saying, “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you, Isak. Be sure to call if you need anything between now and next week.”

“Thank you,” Isak says, and he means it genuinely. 

**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 2016**

**17:15**

Eskild flings open the door and Isak’s laying on the couch, flipping through Netflix. 

“How did it go?” Eskild asks excitedly, and Isak can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Really well,” he answers.

“Yeah?” Eskild says, sounding surprised. “Did you actually talk about yourself?”

“I did.”

“Hot damn.” Eskild comes over to the couch and curls his body over Isak’s, wrapping him in a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

And that makes it twice today that someone’s been proud of him and Isak feels warm at the thought, like he’s doing something right, like he’s worth the love and pride that Eskild feels for him.

“Get off,” he grumbles with a laugh, “you’re killing my arm.”

Instead of moving, Eskild drapes his entire weight onto Isak, squeezing even tighter. “Hugs are healing,” he declares.

“Ugh.”

Isak doesn’t mind.

**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2016**

**12:47**

“You have got to stop eating my food,” Isak tells Magnus firmly.

“But it tastes so much better when I steal it,” Magnus whines.

Jonas and Madhi are arguing over weed prices and Isak’s half listening, most of his attention focused on the way Magnus is still taking food off his plate with his eyes wide and innocent, and Isak’s laughing when he hears the voice behind him.

“Can I sit with you?” Even asks.

The boys all freeze and look to Isak for guidance.

“Yeah,” Isak says, moving his chair. “Pull up here.” He gestures to the open space beside him and Even grins wide, swinging a chair up to the table and sitting in it backward, straddling it.

“Hi,” he says to the rest of the group, “I’m Even.”

“We know,” Magnus mutters, and Isak kicks him under the table.

“What are you guys up to?” Even asks, taking a sip of his water and Isak is very consciously not looking at his lips.

“Bullying Isak,” Magnus answers.

“That’s just you, bro,” Madhi says, shaking his head.

“We’re trying to come up with plans for this weekend,” Jonas tells Even, nodding towards Madhi, who grins wide.

“Vodka and weed, boys,” Madhi says.

“Great combination,” Even jokes. “I actually know someone from Bakka who’s hosting on Friday if you guys are looking for somewhere to party.”

Magnus’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “I am most certainly looking to party.”

“Yeah?” Even says, smiling. “I’m having a pregame at mine at 19:30.”

Madhi, Jonas, and Magnus all look toward Isak again, Magnus’s eyes pleading. 

Isak shrugs and takes a bite of his cheese toastie. “We’re down.”

“Cool. So far it’s just you guys for the pregame. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly know a lot of people here,” Even says, teeth flashing as he laughs a bit, and Isak smiles at him.

“You know me,” he says quietly.

Even’s face softens as he looks at Isak. “That I do,” he says.

After a few long seconds of the two of them looking at each other, Jonas clears his throat.

“Even, do you need us to bring anything?” he asks.

Even shrugs. “I’ve got weed and beer at mine, but I could always use some more.”

“Chill,” Jonas nods. “We can get that.”

“You mean I can get it,” Isak says, rolling his eyes. “I’m the only one with a roommate who can buy us alcohol.”

“Isak can get that,” Jonas corrects.

“Oh, I forget how young you all are,” Even says, nudging Isak with his elbow, teasing.

“How old are you?” Madhi asks.

“Nineteen.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, I guess we are young,” Magnus says.

“Or I’m just old,” Even shrugs.

“That too.”

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 2016**

**19:32**

**Isak:** _ (19:32)  _ We’re here

Even lets them into his place with a joint tucked behind his ear and he reserves a special smile for Isak, whispering, “Hi,” all low and sweet and Isak almost dies on the spot.

“Beer in the fridge,” Even says, nodding to the kitchen, “and we can smoke in my room if we keep the windows open.”

“Sick,” Jonas says, slinging the case of beer over his shoulder and heading into the kitchen while Even leads the way back to his room.

Isak likes Even’s room, likes the posters and drawings on the walls, loves how it’s like an expression of Even himself. His own room isn’t like that, he realises. He’s got some shitty memes and pictures hung up, but it doesn’t really fit him, and he thinks it’s because he’s always afraid his dad is going to cut off his rent money and make him move out. He’d like to be able to settle in somewhere.

Isak sits cross-legged on the ground and Even stretches out beside him, legs bumping together.

Magnus and Madhi start rolling joints, arguing over the best method, and Madhi ends up taking over because Magnus can’t roll for shit.

Jonas comes in and tousles Isak’s hair, knocking his snapback off in the process, so Isak flips him off, and then it’s all of them lounging in a circle with smoke curling around their heads and hands waving and Isak somehow finds himself leaning into Even, Even’s arm slung over his shoulder, comfortable and safe.

Isak’s pleasantly high by the time they leave for the party. Jonas and Madhi walk in front of the group, and Magnus is right behind them, bouncing back and forth and trying to rap NWA, except he only knows the line  _ fuck da police _ , so he screams it and then makes noises for the rest of the words.

“You good?” Even asks. Isak smiles, slow and gentle, and nods.

“Yeah, real good. You?”

“Never been better,” Even says with a grin. 

**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 2016**

**21:14**

The high’s worn off so Isak grabs a beer and cracks it open. He finds his way through the crowd and ends up in the bathroom, curling up in his usual spot in the bathtub, drinking with his head tilted back against the tile. He likes being alone here, where the lights reflect off of white walls and the tub feels cold against his legs, and he lost the boys a while ago. Jonas was talking to some girl, per usual, and Magnus and Madhi were trying to organise a game of beer pong, and Even was off catching up with the host of the party, so it’s Isak alone in the bathtub.

He finishes the beer and checks his phone.

**Even:** _ (21:19)  _ Where’d you go?

He realises then that he and Even have both texted each other today, and he wonders if either of them has their shit together, and then he decides that he doesn’t give a fuck. Right now, he wants to talk to Even, so he will. 

**Isak:** _ (21:21)  _ upstairs bathroom

The text has barely finished sending before the door is opening and Isak knows it’s Even before he looks up.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Even says quietly, cracking a grin.

Isak shrugs and smiles back. “I like bathtubs.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Moving over to make room for Even, Isak tucks his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. 

Even folds himself into the tub, slinging his legs over the edge and his shoulder just barely brushes Isak’s.

“Not the most comfortable, is it?” he asks jokingly, and Isak huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says, tilting his head so he can look over at Even, “but it’s better than whatever’s going on out there.”

Even nods. “Last I saw, Magnus was giving Madhi a piggyback ride and they looked like they were about to break something.”

“Sounds about right,” Isak says with a dramatic sigh.

“I like your friends,” Even says, gently bumping against Isak.

“You can have them,” Isak shoots back.

Even is silent for a second, looking like he’s trying to make a decision, and then he quietly says, “I’d rather have you.”

Isak takes a deep breath.

He’s tired of this. He’s tired of all the complicated shit, all the flirting and kissing and never really knowing what Even wants, so he makes it as simple as possible.

“You do,” he says.

And then Even’s kissing him in a bathtub, his hand on the side of Isak’s face, and Isak grabs at Even’s shirt to pull him closer.

Tongue and lips and teeth as Isak bites at Even’s lower lip and he’s kissing Even desperately, like he’ll never get to again, like he’s been waiting to do this forever, because he feels like he has. He feels like this is finally real. And he feels wholly present, aware of all his nerve endings, like his body is his own and he is in complete ownership of it.

“Do you have your shit together?” Even whispers with a smile, his lips moving lightly against Isak’s, and Isak pulls back just enough that he can see Even’s half-lidded eyes.

“Getting there,” he says honestly.

“Yeah,” Even answers, “me too,” and then they’re kissing again, slowly now, like they have all the time in the world.

Isak lets Even set the speed and it’s as if Even is worshipping him, gentle, his thumb lazily tracing patterns on Isak’s cheek.

Isak tries not to think. That’s probably where he goes wrong most of the time, his mind overworking, all the gears turning too fast. So he lets himself focus on the moment, on the sensation of Even kissing him, on the feeling of the bathtub beneath him and the sounds of the party going on downstairs.

There’s banging on the door. “Stop fucking,” someone yells, “I have to  _ piss _ .”

“Oh, shit,” Even says as he pulls away.

“Jump out the window,” Isak suggests.

Even shrugs. “Or,” he says, “we can walk out the door like normal people.”

And Isak takes a moment to think about the implications of that because someone would see them together, see his hair all fucked up and his cheeks pink, know that they were doing Not Heterosexual Things and that’s a lot.

It’s a lot, but he thinks he’s ready.

So he stands up and offers Even his hand. Even takes it and doesn’t let it go and joined together like that, they open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo here's another one
> 
> i'm trying to not kill isak in this one so look at my boy healing!
> 
> hit me up on tumblr and [buy me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/edyish) if you're so inclined <3

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://transmikael.tumblr.com/)


End file.
